Chronicles of the DLO: The Merry Mix-Up
by drobin
Summary: Now complete! Ever wonder what happened between the scenes or what the characters were thinking during particular scenes? This series of fics will cover what I imagine happened from one scene to the next. This one covers the original movie with the Kelly and Charlie case. It begins a few days prior to the start of the film. Please read and review, thanks!
1. The Transfer

**A/N: I own nothing. The characters and plots from Signed, Sealed, Delivered belongs to the lovely and talented Martha Williamson. I'm just along for the ride. This series of fics will follow the characters through canon from the original movie through the television series and eventually through the film series. It will cover what I imagine happened between the screen scenes, as well as the thoughts of the characters during key scenes. Please read and rate, thanks!**

 **The Merry Mix-Up**

June 18, 2014

"Denver?!" the blonde beauty shouted at the paper she had just pulled from her box. Shaking her head in disbelief, she stormed through the hallways of the DC branch of the United States Post Office until she found the office she was looking for. The stylish brunette behind the desk noticed her through the window and waved her in with a smile as she concluded the phone call she had been on.

"Shaney!" Rebecca Starkwell stood up and embraced her friend once she hung up. She didn't want Shane to know, but she had just been confirming the transfer she had put through for her friend. Shane had been torn up over her boyfriend's lack of commitment to her and Becky had decided that a change of scene would be good for her.

Shane pulled back from the embrace to wave the paper in front of Rebecca's face. "Becky, you won't believe this! I've been transferred! To Denver!"

Feigning surprise, Becky took the transfer order from Shane's hand and glanced through it before sitting at her desk and logging into the USPS Employee Database. It only took a few clicks to bring up the page that detailed the transfer she had ordered only the day before. "OK, it says here that you report to DLO at the Denver branch on Monday morning, June 22. Well, at least you're still Direct Line Operations," she laughed, glancing over at her friend. Coughing, she turned her attention back to the screen. "You are booked on the red-eye tonight and it looks like you have been reserved a room at the Brown Palace Hotel for the next two weeks to give you time to find yourself a place." Becky didn't add that she had sprung for the room at the Brown Palace herself, knowing that the Motel 6 that would have been covered by the USPS for her first weekend in Denver would not have added to her friend's peace of mind over an already-loathed transfer.

"Monday? I start there Monday? And I have to leave tonight? What about my apartment here? I can't pack up my life within the next twelve hours! And what about Steve? He and I are supposed to have dinner when he comes back next Sunday!" Shane fretted.

Becky sighed. "Shaney, Shaney, calm down," she soothed. "I will pack up your apartment myself and ship everything out to Denver when you find yourself a place. You and I will only pack up your clothes and electronics and toiletries today – just the necessities that you won't be able to live without for the next couple weeks – then we will go out for drinks and a late dinner before your flight. You'll have the weekend to explore Denver before starting work on Monday, so I am sure you will have your morning coffee place picked out no later than tomorrow or Saturday," she winked. "As for Steve," she continued, eyeing her friend, "maybe it's not such a bad thing, this transfer coming in now."

"What do you mean?" Shane asked, narrowing her eyes.

"I mean, Steve isn't exactly what one might call…relationship material," Becky explained. "He's a good man, don't get me wrong, and he is certainly patriotic and dedicated to his work. I just never saw the same level of dedication to you as I did to the 'Department of Agriculture.'"

Shane closed her eyes, nodding. She couldn't really argue with Becky, since she knew that the words she spoke were true. Steve _was_ a good man, just not a good _boyfriend_. It was something she had noticed herself, every time he broke plans with her to head out of the country unexpectedly. Still, he was familiar and she did care for him, just as she was sure he cared for her.

"OK, Becky," Shane conceded, shrugging. "I will try to make the best of this transfer. For you. Like you said, at least I am still Direct Line Operations. What's the worst that could happen…I decide I hate it and request to transfer back?"

"That's my girl!" Becky laughed, trying not to even imagine Shane coming back to the emotional abuse Steve had put her through. "OK, you and I are taking the rest of the day off so that we can get your things packed up. Where do you want to go for drinks tonight?"

"Off the Record? At the Franklin-Adams?" the blonde suggested. She had always loved that bar, and secretly had always wanted to stay at that hotel.

"Perfect!" Becky cried, picking up her phone. "I kind of wanted to go to The Oval Room for dinner, and it's just around the corner from the Franklin-Adams!" She dialed the number for the restaurant, made the reservation for two for seven o'clock that night, then grabbed her purse and ushered Shane out the door.

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Eight hours later, both ladies flung themselves onto Shane's couch, exhausted. They had spent the entire day packing up Shane's closet, and throwing out anything in the kitchen that would grow mold in the next few weeks. Now there were four suitcases neatly stacked next to the front door, along with a folded garment bag containing her blazers and some of her dresses; a satchel containing all of her shoes; an oversized purse with all of her identification, travel documents, tablet, and cell phone; a toiletries bag containing the contents of her bathroom for personal care and hygiene; and a carry-on containing a few emergency clothing items in case her checked luggage got lost, her laptop case containing her prized laptop, and all of her chargers. With only about three hours until their dinner reservation, the ladies agreed to take the next hour to shower and change before they met at the bar.

While she had been packing all her things away in suitcases, Shane had already laid out the outfit she had planned to fly in that night: a black pencil skirt with a black, white, and purple print sleeveless top and a gold chain belt. She shrugged into a black suit jacket, grabbed her keys and purse, and left the apartment within forty-five minutes. She made it to the bar less than five minutes later, settling into one of the tall tables for two and ordering herself a gin rickey while she waited for Becky.

She didn't have to wait long. The pretty brunette stepped into the bar exactly at five o'clock and slid onto the seat across from Shane. When the waitress brought Shane's drink, Becky ordered herself a pear martini, and a spinach and artichoke dip for the two friends to share.

They chatted companionably for the next hour and a half, retelling stories from the two years they had known and worked together. Becky paid the bill and the two ladies headed out into the courtyard. The restaurant was just around the corner so they decided to walk, knowing it would take longer for them to drive than to walk at this point. They arrived a little early but their table was ready so they were seated immediately.

"Let's do the tasting menu," Becky suggested eagerly.

Shane shook her head. "I'd love to, Becky," she began, "But I have to be checked in to the airport by 9 if I am going to make my flight. Transfer, remember?"

Becky nodded. "Yeah," she sighed. They both ordered the duck breast with date barbecue pulled mushrooms and a glass of wine. After dinner, they walked back to the Franklin-Adams to collect their cars. Becky had parked a couple stalls down from Shane, so when they reached her car, she turned to her friend.

"Let me take you to the airport," she said. "I'll follow you to your house, we'll load your luggage in my car, then you don't have to leave your car in a parking garage for the foreseeable future." She winked.

"I had planned on taking a cab," Shane pointed out. "But this is better. Thanks."

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Two hours later, Shane was settled into her seat on the mostly-empty plane and had pulled out her iPad and earbuds. As she scrolled idly through her movie playlist, she thought back to the last couple hours. When they had checked Shane's luggage in and walked down to the security checkpoint, Becky had hugged her hard.

"Call me when you get in, OK?" she demanded, tears running down her face despite her knowledge that this was what was best.

"It'll be midnight Denver time," Shane reminded her friend, wiping her own tears away. "Two AM here in DC. How about I call you first thing in the morning?"

Becky shook her head. "I don't care what time it is. If I don't answer – not that that is likely – then leave a message. I just want to know you arrived safely."

Shane laughed. "Yes, Mom," she had joked. After one more brief hug, Shane had handed her documents to the TSA guard, placed her electronics into a bin and her carry-ons on the conveyor belt and gone through the security checkpoint. She and Becky waved at each other one last time before she had collected her things and walked down the terminal to her gate.

Shane was brought out of her musings by the beverage cart stopping next to her. She ordered herself a seltzer water with a lime wedge and decaf coffee. She reached into her bag and carefully pulled out the dessert Becky had insisted on ordering for her at the restaurant to be eaten on the plane. It was a rich chocolate cake with a passionfruit curd and a peppercorn caramel custard. Becky had ordered herself a strawberry bombe topped with what looked like shards of meringue. Becky loved that sort of thing, Shane knew, but to her a meringue just seemed…well, like a waste of a good egg.

The flight attendant handed her the seltzer and coffee and went on to the next passenger. Shane doctored her coffee up with lots of sugar and creamer, pressed play on the screen of her iPad, and stuck her fork into her cake. She watched three episodes of Gray's Anatomy before the flight attendant announced their descent into Denver International Airport and made her last rounds to collect any remaining trash from the few passengers still awake. Shane collected her two cups and all her sugar and creamer packets into the plastic clamshell that had held her AMAZING dessert and dumped the whole thing into the trash bag as it was brought by her.

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Once the plane landed, Shane collected her luggage and made her way to the car rental kiosk. She rented herself a compact car and soon enough was making her way towards the Brown Palace Hotel. When she arrived, she was surprised to find such an elegant hotel. She had expected to be put up in a Motel 6-type place, but the Brown Palace was beautiful, charming, and loaded with amenities which she would be sure to check out during the course of the next three days. In the meantime, she followed the bellhop to the elevator. He let her into her fourth-floor room, unloaded her luggage, and handed her the key before accepting the tip she offered and leaving her alone.

Shane sighed, dug in one of her suitcases for a pair of pajamas, and changed before grabbing her cell phone and hitting the speed-dial button.

"Hello," came the curiously-wakeful voice on the other end.

"Becky, why are you still awake?" Shane demanded, glancing at the clock. "It must be three-thirty there…I would have left a message."

"Shaney, I wouldn't sleep until I knew you had arrived safely. In the absence of your mother and that crazy woman you call a sister, _someone_ needs to look out for you."

Shane laughed. "OK, you win. I'll call you in a couple days to let you know how I'm doing. Good night." She hung up the phone, plugged it into its charger, and slid into bed, utterly exhausted.

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 **A/N: Well, there it is! Please read and review to let me know what you think of it! This story will cover the original movie, with (hopefully) one chapter per day during the course of the Kelly and Charlie case. Also, if there are any scenes you would particularly like to see explored, please let me know and I will do my best to work them in. Thanks! - Desiree**


	2. Denver

**A/N: Thank you all for the wonderful reviews! Writers love getting feedback about their work, and positive feedback just keeps us writing more! Now on to the story. Standard disclosure applies: they aren't mine (sadly), I am just borrowing them from the lovely and talented Martha Williamson.**

June 19, 2014

7:00 AM

Shane woke up on Friday slightly disoriented. This wasn't her bed in DC. Looking around her luxurious hotel suite, the day before all came flooding back along with that awful truth: she had been transferred to Denver. She grabbed her toiletry bag and headed into the bathroom to shower. Once finished, she sat at the beautiful marble vanity and set up her makeup, hair dryer, straightener, brush, and perfume before getting ready for the day.

Hair and makeup done, she picked up her foldable garment bag, pulled out a black dress and a red blazer, selected a pair of black strappy heels and two long necklaces to wear alongside the inscribed disc and bead she had worn every day since her tenth birthday, and got dressed. She grabbed her purse, made sure her cell phone and wallet were tucked inside, and grabbed her tablet. Within a few taps on her screen she had the name of a coffee place that seemed as if it was about midway between the hotel and the post office. She tucked the device into her purse, grabbed her charger and her room key, and headed out the door.

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9:00 AM

The Denver Bean Coffee House was little more than a pushcart on a prominent corner in the business district downtown. Still, Shane noticed that it was busy, which was always a good sign when looking for one's regular coffee stop. They were also, she noted, pretty clever with size names, using the names of famous Colorado ski destinations – Aspen, Vail and Steamboat – to represent small, medium, and large respectively. Other pluses included tables where it looked like freelance technophiles worked out of the office, and what looked like a short walk to a park.

Shane got into the long line and, to pass the time, pulled out her cell phone to look up places to go and things to do in and around the Denver area. She also took a glance at the real estate listings in the area. She had initially intended only to rent as she had never been able to afford to purchase a house on her salary, but the prices she saw were so low compared to the DC area that she knew she would probably be able to afford at least a small house. The thought pleased her, since she missed the benefits of living in a house: the porch, the porch swing, roses planted in the yard, a garden in the backyard. She noticed a 3-bedroom, 2- bath home in the Cherry Hills area and decided she would go to their open house that afternoon.

"Next?" she heard. Glancing up, she saw that the barista was waiting on her.

"Sorry," she grinned sheepishly.

"It happens all the time," the kid responded amiably. "What can I get you?"

"Um, how about a Vail Skinny Vanilla Latte?" she requested.

He nodded and, within a minute her latte was placed in front of her. She handed the kid a five and told him to keep the change, collected her coffee, and headed in the direction of the Post Office. She wanted to time her morning commute so she would know the absolute latest time she could leave the hotel in the morning and still arrive at work on time.

Taking a sip of her coffee, she closed her eyes in bliss. They had mastered the right blend of sweetness with the correct ratio of espresso to milk, and the aeration in the milk produced a lovely buttery texture with just the right amount of foam on top. She had found her daily coffee place, and she had done so at the first place she had tried. For the first time since she had found out about this infernal transfer 36 hours ago, Shane began to feel as if she might actually like it in Denver.

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2:00 PM

Oliver O'Toole was having a terrible day. He had taken possession of a packet of letters. They were clearly dead letters, which fell to his department to deal with, but since they were intended for Cody, Wyoming, his superior, Andrea – actually, he wouldn't really call her his superior in any sense of the word – had deemed that they be sent to the Cheyenne office. He had taken the packet back, informing her that the Cheyenne branch did not have a Dead Letter Office to send the letters to and, as such, they were to be dealt with by his department. She had huffed, spun around on her heel, and stalked off. His victory was short lived, however, as their little head-to-head had put her into a particularly foul mood and she had stalked his department the entire rest of the day.

Later, he had found out that, starting the following week, all salaried employees would be required to do overtime until further notice. This meant that, for the foreseeable future, he, Norman and Rita (and Andrea, he groaned inwardly) would be working six days a week, Monday through Saturday, until their staffing levels were back up to where they needed to be.

Now, Rita and Norman had collided over…something…in the DLO, which had resulted in two bins of dead letters being strewn all over the floor of the office. Unfortunately, Andrea had chosen that moment to barge into the DLO, still complaining of that packet of letters to Cody. Once she saw the mess Rita and Norman were scurrying to pick up and sort back into their bins, she lost it again.

"Oliver, your department is the most disorganized, sloppy, useless office in the entire United States Postal System!" she screeched, waving her metal clipboard around. "Look at this place! It's a complete disaster area!"

"Andrea, I can assure you, this is not how we operate-" He was cut off by her sarcastic laugh.

"You can assure me of nothing, Oliver. Save your breath. If I had my way, this whole office would be shut down and you would all be packed up to sell stamps in Pueblo and North Glen. You would at least then be of some use to the Post Office then!"

"That was extremely poor grammar, Andrea," Oliver replied smoothly. "The Dead Letter Office is not useless, either. We get letters and packages to their intended recipients when your sorting floor cannot hope to do so."

She huffed angrily, then spied his coffee maker out of the corner of her eye. "You will regret that, O'Toole," she muttered.

"One must never regret telling the truth, Andrea," he responded evenly. "Now, may my colleagues and I get back to work?"

"Not so fast, pal," she retorted. "A kitchen electronic device with a heating element is in direct violation of the office fire code. I'm going to have to confiscate this." She unplugged the Mr. Coffee and stormed out of the DLO, grinning smugly to herself.

Oliver stood, staring at the batwing door she had just gone through. "Oh, dear," he mumbled. "Norman, Rita," he announced, turning toward his employees, "Since we are to be working mandatory overtime beginning next week, why don't the three of us take the rest of the day off? Today has been rather…challenging, to say the least, and I believe we could all use the rest."

"Leave early?" Norman inquired. "But what about Andrea?"

"I have a government service pay grade higher than she does, Norman," Oliver reminded the younger man. "She can complain all she wishes but nothing she says will have any bearing on this department while I am the section leader here. Go home, you two. Have a good weekend, and we will see each other again on Monday morning."

"Good night, Oliver," Norman and Rita responded in unison before gathering their things and heading out the batwing doors.

Oliver unrolled his shirt sleeves, refastened his cuffs, slipped into his suit jacket, folded his trench coat over his arm, grabbed his hat and his satchel and made his way out to his Jaguar.

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4:00 PM

Shane entered the front door of the 1800-square-foot home in Cherry Hills. It was reasonably priced for its size and specifications, and the outside was cute, with the porch she wanted and a space to plant roses later. She toured the house, noting the open concept layout. There was a small mud area in the entrance that would come in handy during the rainy and snowy seasons, a large island in the kitchen area suitable for prepping her meals (she would never admit this to anyone, but she actually enjoyed cooking, and especially baking) that flowed into the living room and dining room, and a back patio that opened to an outdoor oasis, complete with a fire pit, a large seating area, and a carefully-cultivated garden that contained both culinary and floral specimens.

At the top of the stairs was a full bath, two good sized bedrooms that looked out onto the street below, and a large, well-lit master suite at the rear of the house, complete with a four-piece bathroom and a balcony looking over the backyard with a spectacular view of the mountains between the trees.

Smiling to herself, she descended the stairs and met the real estate agent, Wade, in the kitchen.

"Well, what did you think?" he asked pleasantly, standing up to greet her as she walked into the room.

"It's such a beautiful home, with nearly every one of my wish list items on it," Shane replied honestly. "I think I would like to make an offer, but I would like to think about it for a day or so."

"Of course," Wade replied. "Just keep in mind that, at this price, this home will not last."

"May I take one of these?" Shane asked, indicating the flyers that were stacked on the kitchen island.

He laughed. "You may." He reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a business card. "That is my cell phone number," he told her. "Please give me a call if you do decide to offer for the house. Have a lovely evening." 

"You too," she smiled, turning the front door knob.

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11:00 PM

Shane was back in her hotel room, sipping a glass of wine as she sat on the sofa in her silk nightgown and robe. She had returned to the hotel after the open house in Cherry Hills and spent the remainder of the afternoon unpacking her bags and getting herself settled for her stay. She had spent dinner in one of the hotel's restaurants, The Ship's Tavern, and enjoyed a salad and a Caprese Chicken sandwich with a glass of chardonnay.

She had then come back to her room and called her personal banker in DC. The money her dad had left her when he died last year had left her financially able to purchase a home – here in Denver. In DC, it had really only enabled her the ability to go out with friends whenever she chose without worry about how she would pay bills from one paycheck to the next.

Now, as she sipped her wine, she considered the real estate agent's card and made a decision. She picked up her cell phone, dialed the number on the card, and waited.

"Wade Dorman," came the response after the third ring.

"Mr. Dorman, it's Shane McInerney, from the open house this afternoon," she stated.

There was a brief pause before he acknowledged her words. "Oh, right," he conceded. "The one in Cherry Hills. You work for the Post Office or something, right?"

She smiled sardonically. "That's right."

"I think I have a cousin that works there, too. What can I do for you?"

"I would like to make an offer on the house. Full cash offer, if the homeowners agree."

"I will get the message to them tonight and call you back when I have an answer from them. Probably sometime tomorrow," he responded.

"Thank you. Good night." She hung up the phone, turned out the light, and went to bed. It had been a long day.

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 **A/N: Well, there it is. Please, let me know what you thought, and what you might like to see in the upcoming chapters. Thanks!**


	3. The Bluegrass Festival

**A/N: Same disclosure applies: I don't own them, I'm just borrowing them for a bit. Thank you all so much for the reviews and for enjoying my story so much!**

June 20, 2014

The next morning, Shane was up and dressed and out the door before three-thirty AM. She stopped at a 24-hour coffee drive-through and ordered herself a large Skinny Vanilla Latte. Once her coffee had been handed to her and she had paid for it, she pointed her car in the direction of Telluride, a mountain city about 300 miles southwest of Denver. They were hosting a Bluegrass Festival that weekend, which she thought would be fun to attend. It would be at least a five hour drive there and back if she drove fast which was a lot for one day, but she loved music festivals of all kinds: bluegrass, blues, jazz, classical, acoustic, it didn't matter. She would take the time tomorrow to relax at the hotel spa and to partake of the afternoon tea she had heard so much about from some of the other guests at the hotel.

Five hours later, she was just pulling into Telluride and maneuvering her car towards the festival grounds when her phone rang. The Bluetooth feature had been set up to answer the phone through the car's speaker system, so she waited for the phone to stop ringing.

"Shane McInerney," she responded automatically once she was sure the line had connected.

"Ms. McInerney," came the voice on the other end, "This is Wade Dorman."

"Good morning, Mr. Dorman," she smiled, hoping he had some good news for her.

"Good morning," he replied. "I have some news for you. The homeowners have accepted your offer and have added that since it is an all-cash offer they will gladly pay the closing costs, which reduces your total by about $7,500."

"That's great!" she exclaimed, tossing her purse into the passenger seat.

"The only thing is that they are not able to move out for a month. Are you OK with that?" Wade sincerely hoped that she would be; there had been three other offers on that house in the last twenty-four hours, but they were all for $20,000 or more below asking and were contingent on loan approvals.

She thought about it for a moment. The current homeowners moving out in one month would make her move-in date at least five weeks away, which would extend her stay at the Brown Palace by a minimum of three weeks. She couldn't ask the Post Office to put her up for more than twice the amount of time they had already paid for; honestly, they had already been more generous than she would have thought. However, since she was unexpectedly saving that $7,500 on the closing costs, she could afford the extra time at the hotel out of her own pocket without dipping any more into her nest egg. She decided to bite the bullet and agree.

"That should be fine," she replied, ignoring the butterflies making loop-de-loops in her stomach. She had just bought a house. Without having it inspected first. In a city thousands of miles away from everything she had ever known and loved. After spending just a day and a half in that city and knowing virtually nothing about it other than they had exceptional coffee shops and a stunning Victorian-era hotel. When she had yet to begin her new job or to know if she would even like it enough to stick around. Was she crazy?

Still, something was telling her that this was the right thing to do. "I can make it work," she affirmed.

"Perfect!" Wade announced. "Can you come by my office in Fort Collins sometime today to sign the papers?"

She pulled into a parking lot a couple blocks from where she had seen the festival stage, paid the parking fee, and found a spot. "I am in Telluride for today but plan on driving back to Denver tonight," she informed him, shutting the engine off and putting the phone to her ear.

"The Bluegrass Festival?" he inquired knowingly.

"Yeah," she laughed. She shut the door and moved out of the way as a black convertible pulled into the space next to her car.

"What time do you plan to be back? I can maybe meet you for drinks or a late dinner in Denver."

"I planned on leaving here around five or so and grabbing a quick bite on the road back. It took me just five hours to drive down here, so I should be back in Denver sometime between ten and eleven, probably closer to ten if I skip the quick bite and eat once I get to town." She walked up to the ticket booth at the festival and paid her admission.

"Can you give me a call when you are about an hour outside of town and let me know where you would like me to meet you?"

"I can," she promised.

"Good. See you then." The line clicked indicating that he had hung up and she placed her cell back in her purse, turning her attention to her surroundings. The festival was packed, and the music coming from the stage at the far end of the grounds could be heard clear out to where she was at the entrance thanks to the PA system wired throughout the grounds.

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Oliver left his hotel room at 8:00 on Saturday morning. The afternoon before, when he had decided to leave work early after his unfortunate war of words with Andrea, he had decided to come early to the Bluegrass Festival in Telluride. He had originally planned to leave early this morning and drive back tonight, but he was able to secure a hotel room for the previous evening and, beating the Denver evening traffic, had managed to arrive in Telluride in time to have a quiet dinner and to catch the last couple of hours of the festival for the day before retiring for the evening. Truthfully, it was better this way. What kind of impetuous, headstrong person would drive over three hundred miles each way in one day simply to attend a music festival for a few hours?

He made his way to the restaurant for breakfast, sat at a small table by a window, and ordered coffee and a Denver omelet with hash browns and whole wheat toast. As he ate, he pondered the previous day's events. He could not believe that he had allowed Andrea to goad him into an argument – one that had resulted in the confiscation of his coffee maker, no less. Now he would need to find some other method to obtain his morning caffeine before work on Monday.

He finished his meal, paid the bill, and left the restaurant. After a short fifteen-minute drive, he entered a parking lot a couple blocks from the festival and pulled up next to a blue compact sedan that an attractive blonde had just exited. She unfortunately had one of those ridiculous cellular phones attached to her ear, but at least she had noticed his vehicle and had closed the door to her car and moved to allow him the ability to park.

He grabbed his trench coat and climbed out of his Jaguar, following a few steps behind the woman, who appeared to also be heading towards the music festival. It sounded, from her side of the conversation at least, that she was making a date with someone for late that evening. In Denver? Why didn't she just invite her boyfriend to attend the festival with her?

That was a sore point with Oliver. He had always enjoyed music festivals and had hoped to share that love of culture with Holly. She, however, had always refused his requests to attend such events, choosing instead to attend beat poetry readings at those modernized, minimalist coffee shops with those absurdly oversized coffee mugs she had so loved to frequent. Maybe if he had tried harder to appreciate the things she appreciated – maybe if he had been a better husband to her – she wouldn't have felt the need to leave him standing in front of that Pony Express exhibit last year.

Shaking himself out of his reveries, he made his way to the music venue where an excellent band was performing. A look at his program indicated that it was the Yonder Mountain String Band. Making a mental note to purchase an album later, he meandered through the crowd. He saw the same blonde, now off her phone, browsing the craft stalls with a coffee in one hand and a pastry in the other. Every now and again he saw her glance up at the stage, seemingly enthralled with the music, but was never at the right angle to see her face to determine if she truly was enjoying herself.

 _Why could Holly and I not have enjoyed the same things?_ He asked his Father. _Lord, I don't understand; it seemed as if Holly and I were meant to marry. She was so beautiful, and so different from me, and that night in the blizzard we just…clicked. I would so loved to have been able to have had some shared interests with her…such as I seem to with this young lady. Why allow us to meet in such a manner, point us to marriage, simply to result in her leaving me a year and a half later?_

Swallowing hard, he blinked his tears away and went to purchase an album or two before finding some lunch. It had been several hours since breakfast.

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At four-thirty, Shane began heading back towards the entrance. She had purchased two CDs from the band that had been playing when she had arrived, the Yonder Mountain String Band, and a few from other bands that had performed throughout the day. She had also purchased a few necklaces, a pair of earrings, and a wooden wine rack that held a bottle of wine and two stemmed glasses which she thought would be nice to put on the counter in her new kitchen.

She got into her car, turning on the audiobook she had been listening to on the way down from Denver that morning. By the time the book was complete, she was just outside of Denver. She had called Mr. Dorman forty-five minutes before, informing him that she would be there within the hour, and he had agreed to meet her for a late supper at the Meadowlark Kitchen, a small restaurant with an excellent late-night menu he tried to get to every time he was in Denver during mealtimes.

She entered the restaurant and, not seeing Wade anywhere, took a seat at the last open table, and ordered herself a gin rickey. A few minutes later, Wade entered and slid into the seat across from her.

"Good evening, Shane," he greeted her pleasantly before ordering himself a Pioneer, the restaurant's version of a whiskey sour.

"Good evening," she replied, laughing.

"Have you ordered yet?" he asked, picking up the late-night menu.

"Not yet. But I was thinking about either the brussels sprouts salad or the Meadowlark burger."

"The salad is excellent," he affirmed, nodding. "The burger is good, too, but extremely messy. I recommend the BLT instead…it's a lot easier to eat and is delicious. We should order the waffle fries or the Denver nuggets to share."

She took his recommendation, ordering the Denver nuggets and the brussels sprouts. He ordered the waffle fries and the brussels, and another round of drinks. By the time their appetizers and second drinks arrived, he had pulled the paperwork out of his briefcase and given her an overview of the purchase contract. She read the contract carefully, spearing one of her nuggets and a pickle slice and dipping it in the hot mustard sauce and popping the whole bite into her mouth. He pushed his platter of waffle fries toward her and, grinning, she grabbed one, pushing her nuggets the other direction in an offering of her own.

She signed the contract, knowing the terms were more than fair and trusting that the Voice inside her (what was that?) telling her that this was right was correct. He placed her copy of the contract into a manila envelope and handed it to her, which she slid into her purse. The other two copies were placed back into their file in his briefcase. Their salads arrived and the rest of the meal passed uneventfully.

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Oliver sat in his den that night, sipping his gin and reflecting on the day, especially on the blonde he kept glimpsing at the festival and comparing to his estranged wife.

 _Lord,_ he prayed, _forgive me. I have done nothing but ask You why Holly could leave me as she did. Not once have I asked how I could have behaved differently to encourage her to want to stay. I'm afraid, Lord. Afraid that I have alienated her because I did not love her enough. I took the circumstances surrounding our meeting as a sign from You that she was the one intended for me. I don't believe she was, but we are married now and I will honor You by honoring her. If she comes back, I will try to be a better husband to her than I was, with Your help. If, however, she decides she no longer wants to be married to me, I ask that You help me to accept that with grace and dignity and that You reveal Your plan to me._

 _I also pray for the lady I saw today. You know I did not intend to listen to her telephone conversation but could not help doing so given our proximity to one another walking to the festival. I do not know the particulars behind the dinner she was scheduling. Perhaps it was merely a business dinner. If, however, she does have a boyfriend who is uninterested in sharing her interests, then please bring a man into her life who will cherish her and respect her as she deserves. I pray for a better man for her than I was for Holly. In Jesus' name, Amen._

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 **A/N: Well, there it is! Please review and tell me what you think! Also, I have received a private message telling me that the Off the Record bar is not in the Franklin-Adams hotel in DC. I know it is not as the Franklin-Adams is fictitious; it is in the Hay-Adams. There is a reason I chose to place it in the Franklin-Adams for the purposes of this story. Also, when I use a restaurant or a bar (or a festival** **) that is not canonical, I make sure it is a real place and that everything that is ordered or purchased from that place can be purchased in real life. Only one more chapter before our favorite postal detectives meet!**


	4. Sunday

**A/N: I own nothing other than my imagination. All canonical scenes and characters belong to Martha Williamson. Thank you all for reading and for all the reviews, and a huge thank you to Dmander4483 for sharing my little story on her #POstables Twitter account, POstaUnscripted!**

June 21, 2014

Shane awoke later on Sunday morning than she had in over a week. After such long days as she had had since Thursday, it felt indulgent to be stretching lazily in her bed at 8:30, knowing that she did not have anywhere to be except for the spa. She had a reservation at two to take afternoon tea in the Atrium. Before then, however, she had appointments beginning at nine for an Altitude Adjustment facial, a Traveler's Relief massage, a Signature wrap, and a Classic manicure and pedicure. It was going to be a completely self-indulgent day before starting her hectic new job tomorrow. She had checked her USPS email account every day since her last day of work, so she knew that all salaried employees in the Colorado postal system were required to work overtime for the foreseeable future.

 _That'll be fun,_ she thought to herself, throwing the blankets back and climbing out of bed. She knew she would be showering later, after her wrap, so she opted to forgo her morning shower and simply dress in a pair of workout pants and tank top. She had already collected the dress, shoes, undergarments, and accessories she had planned to change into after her spa treatments and placed them into a bag. She placed her purse into her room safe, grabbed her room key and the bag, took the elevator down to the Atrium lobby and entered the spa.

 _This is bliss,_ Shane thought while in the middle of her massage an hour and a half later. She hadn't realized how exhausted she had gotten until Ingrid had kneaded her cares away. It didn't even matter to her that she didn't have her cell phone or tablet or internet to keep her company; all that mattered was that she was turning into a puddle right here on the massage table.

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Shane entered the Atrium at ten to two, fully refreshed after her morning of indulgence. She had stopped in her room on her way to tea in order to pick up her purse and cell phone, and to leave the bags of laundry and dry cleaning outside her room to be taken care of by the staff and returned that evening. She ascended the stairs to the second story, to the landing where the tea service was hosted. An elderly gentleman looked up from the podium as she approached.

"Good afternoon, Madam," he greeted in a regal British accent.

"Good afternoon," Shane replied. "I have a reservation for two o'clock under McInerney."

He skimmed through the reservation list, looking for her name. "Yes, here it is," he acknowledged with a smile. "Ms. Shane McInerney, party of one. Welcome to Afternoon Tea at the Brown Palace Hotel. My name is Mr. Fry, and I am the Tea Master here. Let me just confirm that your table is ready."

She nodded as he left briefly. When he returned, he offered her his arm, which she took as he escorted her to a small table close to the railing that overlooked the lobby of the Atrium. He pulled out her chair and pushed it in for her as she sat. She didn't know much about tea so inquired which one he recommended she try.

"Well, the 1892 Darjeeling is our own private blend. It is an acquired taste with a subtle muskiness and floral note, however, so if you are unfamiliar with the subtle nuances described then perhaps the Blue of London would better suit." He seemed mildly pleased when she ordered the Darjeeling and set her pot steeping.

Shane picked up her phone and hit the speed dial button. The phone rang three times before going to voicemail. "Becky, it's Shane," she said after the greeting and beep. "I know you're at church and that you'll probably be out late but call me when you get this message and have a few minutes to chat. I have a _lot_ to tell you!" She hung up the phone and placed it on the table, smiling at Mr. Fry as he placed the tea strainer on top of her cup and poured her tea through it.

"One lump or two?" Mr. Fry inquired, picking up the sugar tongs.

"Two, please," Shane replied. The Tea Master nodded, placing two cubes of sugar carefully into her cup then pouring in the milk. Shane picked up the spoon and stirred her tea carefully, taking a sip after he turned his back. The tea wasn't bad, but it probably was not her favorite thing to drink. Mr. Fry was correct; it was definitely an acquired taste. It was not sweet enough, either. Next time she came to tea she would need to ask for three lumps.

She took a bite of the cucumber sandwich and closed her eyes. It was probably the best she had ever had, and that was saying something. The chicken salad was especially good, too. She ate slowly, savoring every bite and every sip. At three-thirty she paid the bill and stood up, absolutely stuffed.

She left the Atrium, thanking Mr. Fry for the service on her way out. She made her way down to the check-in desk.

"Good afternoon, Ms. McInerney," the concierge greeted her. "What can I do for you today?" The young lady had been the one to recommend the Bluegrass Festival to Shane.

"Hello, Beth," Shane responded. "I just wanted to see about extending my reservation three weeks."

"You mean you want to extend an _additional_ three weeks on top of the two you already have, or you want to make your reservation a _total_ of three weeks?" the young lady inquired, pulling up Shane's reservation on her computer.

"Additional," Shane clarified. "I just bought a house, but I won't close on it for at least a month, which puts my move-in date at least five weeks away, possibly more if there is a lot to be done."

Beth nodded, typing away. She made the extension, adding a footnote to the file: _Guest may choose to extend longer depending on circumstances surrounding purchase of home. Do not book out room after travel end date until further notice._ "OK, Ms. McInerney, you are all set. I've added a note in your file stating that you might want to extend further and preventing your room from being booked until you finalize your end date with us."

"Thank you," Shane smiled. "And please, since we will be seeing each other nearly every day for the next month or more, call me Shane."

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Shane went back up to her room and settled on the sofa in her seating area. She turned on the television, flipping channels until, unable to find anything new of interest to her, she settled in for an "Ugly Betty" marathon. The show itself was a little absurd, but it was lighthearted and would pass the time, plus there was the added bonus of watching Eric Mabius.

Three hours later, Shane's phone rang. "Becky!" she answered excitedly, turning the volume down on the television.

"Shaney!" Becky squealed. "I got your message. How are you? How's Denver?"

"I'm fine; Denver is fine," Shane giggled. "I actually think I am going to really like it here."

"Really?" Becky asked, incredulous. "Three days ago it was the end of your world. What happened?"

"Well, I haven't started working yet so I still don't know how that will go. But I mean, it's Direct Line Operations and I have done that for years so really, what can happen?"

"Exactly!" Becky agreed, glad that Shane seemed to see the benefits behind this transfer. "So, what have you been up to if you haven't been at work?"

"Well, I found my coffee place on Friday morning," Shane began.

"What did I tell you?" laughed Becky. "I knew that would be the first thing you would situate for yourself!"

"It is this tiny little pushcart, but it is so busy and the coffee is AMAZING. It's also just about midway between the hotel and the Post Office so I shouldn't have too much of a problem on my morning commute."

"You're drinking coffee out of a…cart?" Becky asked skeptically. "How…quaint."

"Yesterday morning I drove to this little mountain village in Southwest Colorado for a Bluegrass Festival. I listened to – and bought – some great music, bought some of the local artisan products, and tasted some fabulous food. I came back late last night and had a fantastic brussels sprouts salad for dinner, along with some house made chicken nuggets."

"You- you drove 10 hours in one day just to spend a few hours at a mountain festival?" Becky blinked. "And you're excited about a cabbage salad and children's finger foods? Who are you and what have you done with Shane McInerney?"

"Well, Wade recommended the restaurant," Shane explained. "And he was right, the food is so good!"

"Now we're getting somewhere," Becky sat up, interested. "Who is Wade?"

"My realtor. My _married_ realtor," Shane clarified.

Becky screeched. "A realtor? Does that mean…you've rented a place? Already?"

"No," Shane shook her head.

"Oh." Becky leaned back in her chair dejectedly. She had hoped that taking such an interest in the city and the surrounding area and participating in a cultural festival had meant that Shane had decided to look for a more permanent place to live.

"On the upside," Shane said brightly, "I have extended my stay here at the Brown Palace by three additional weeks."

"What?! Oh, Shaney," Becky cried. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I don't close on my house for another month and don't want to move any more than is absolutely necessary," Shane emphasized slowly.

It took a minute for her words to sink in. "You didn't…" Becky trailed off.

"I bought a house," Shane confirmed. "It is the cutest little thing: three bedrooms, two bathrooms, 1800 square feet, open concept main floor, front porch where I can eventually put a porch swing, a place for roses, and a backyard garden."

"Shaney!" Becky squeaked. "This is so great! But why something so permanent when you don't even know if you want to stay in Denver yet?"

"I don't know," Shane shrugged, tucking her feet under her on the sofa. "It just felt…right, somehow." She still couldn't explain _how_ she knew everything would work out; she just _did_. "Listen, Becky, I hate to do this, but the last three days have been really long and I start work tomorrow morning…"

"And all Colorado salaried employees are to do mandatory overtime until further notice," Becky supplied. "I saw the email. Go on, get some rest. Call me when you can, OK?"

"OK," Shane agreed. "Oh! About my stuff, just pack up my household items and books and things. The furniture and major appliances you can sell to pay for the shipping costs; I'll buy new things here. I have a rental unit you can send the boxes to." She gave Becky the address of the rental unit and said good night before hanging up the phone.

She picked up her room phone and dialed the room service line, ordering herself an Apple Quinoa Salad with lavender honey mustard for dinner. While waiting for her salad to arrive, she changed out of her dress, slipped into her nightgown and dressing gown, and laid out her outfit for the next day: black slacks, black tank, and a pumpkin-colored blazer with black cuffs. A pair of black high-heeled boots rounded out her ensemble.

A knock at the door signaled that her dinner had arrived. She let in the room service porter, had him set the salad at her dining table, and walked him out after handing him a tip. She pulled a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and ate quickly. She loved salads; especially when they had a wide variety of toppings and things in them. Once finished, she placed her dishes, cutlery, and now-empty water bottle back on the tray and placed the whole thing outside her door to be collected later. Turning out the lights, she headed to the bedroom. Tomorrow would be an interesting day; she could feel it.

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 **A/N: Well, that was Shane's last day before starting work in Denver! Please review and let me know what you thought. Up next, Monday morning and the (long-awaited) meeting between Shane and Oliver! Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed so far!**


	5. The Meeting

**A/N: I still don't own anything, I just get to borrow them for awhile. On the upside, we are now at the much-anticipated meeting between our two favorite #POstables! Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed and/or tweeted about this story; it makes me happy to see that you are all enjoying it so much! For ease of reading this chapter, however: the plain text version of Oliver's journal entry are my own words, since the voice-over script cuts his speech off at an awkward part right in the middle. The italics are canon. I simply supplemented it to get it to make sense on paper.**

June 22, 2014

7:00 AM, Oliver's Point of View

 _Sometimes I wonder, "Who mailed the first letter? Who was that brave soul that put a stamp on an envelope and released it into the world, trusting a stranger to deliver it across the miles, and across time?" In this new world of instant replies and casual deleting, what I love about my work is I can HOLD a letter – a real letter – in my hand and be THAT stranger, whose sole mission_ is to carry out that trust. I work for the United States Post Office. _There it is, a beacon of hope to those who still put their faith in the power of a piece of paper…and a 46-cent stamp. And behind every letter stands thousands of dedicated heroes who still fight the good fight through rain and snow and fiscal cliffs to deliver every note, every card, every letter. And I am one of them – The Few…The Proud…The Postal. I work for you, whoever you are, or whoever you were._

Oliver laid his pen down and closed his journal. He would complete his entry when he had a little more time to dedicate to it. He grabbed his satchel and hat and headed out the door. He did not immediately point his car in the direction of the office, however, remembering that he had to stop for coffee before work because Andrea had appropriated his coffee maker on Friday afternoon. He would need to find some way to get it back during the course of the day or he might just be driven mad.

There was a reason he did not frequent coffee shops, and not just because they reminded him of those poetry readings Holly had gone to, but because they confused the living daylights out of him: venti, half-caf, blended, misto. It was like another language. Whatever happened to asking for a large coffee with milk? Actually, he preferred his coffee black with no sugar, but the premise remained the same.

He spied a small coffee cart out of the corner of his eye and found a parking spot. Walking up to the grassy knoll where the cart was parked, he glanced around and rolled his eyes. There was not one person who was not on a cell phone, tablet, or laptop. Not one person who was not googling, tweeting, skyping, or doing any other action that was not an actual verb.

Still, he needed the caffeine and he was running slightly late, so he got into line, observing the surroundings and pondering how he would retrieve his coffee maker.

7:43 AM, Shane's Point of View

Shane was running so late. She had forgotten to set her alarm before going to bed the night before, so she had woken up only an hour ago, showered, brushed her teeth, gotten dressed (luckily she had ironed her clothes when she had unpacked three days ago), straightened and brushed her hair, done her makeup, grabbed her things, and run out the door. Now she was just walking up to the Denver Bean Coffee House to get in line to order her coffee at the time when she had planned to be leaving with her coffee. Hopefully the line went fast this morning. She stepped behind a tall, good-looking gentleman in a gray three-piece suit and a brown fedora, pulled out her cell phone, and began browsing.

"Next!" she heard.

 _Thank goodness,_ she thought to herself, stepping forward. _That's for the guy in front of me; it shouldn't be long now._

"Yes, uh, I'd like a cup of coffee."

 _Oh, no. Who goes to a coffee shop and orders coffee? They don't have that here!_ Shane thought at the man.

"Aspen, Vail, or Steamboat?" asked the barista.

"I'm sorry; I'm not…following."

 _Really?_ Shane glanced at the ever-growing line behind her and winced inwardly. This would not be good.

"Small, medium, or large?" the barista clarified.

"Oh! Large, large coffee."

 _Finally!_ Shane shouted in her head. She looked down at her phone and nearly grimaced. 7:50 AM.

"What kind of coffee?" the barista insisted.

"What do you recommend?"

Shane glanced up at the man in front of her, doing a mental facepalm. _This guy needs someone to write him a dictionary of coffee-house terms._

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7:51 AM, Oliver's Point of View

Oliver was not getting his message across to the person taking his order. All he wanted was a simple cup of black coffee. How hard was that to understand?

"Everything's on the board," the kid replied.

Oliver glanced at the board as if it was written in Greek. "This is my first visit," he explained cautiously. "Frankly, I wouldn't be here at all if my coffee maker hadn't been illegally appropriated after an unfortunate war of words with my superior – well, I wouldn't call her my superior exactl-"

"Excuse me?"

 _What?_ Oliver thought. The woman in line behind him came up next to him. _She looks…familiar…somehow. Do I know her from somewhere?_

"Can I just…cut in front of you while you're reminiscing?"

 _Who does this woman think that she is?_

Oliver tried to redirect his but she beat him to it.

"I'll even pay for your coffee if you just let me go ahead of you," she promised.

 _How rude!_ He thought to himself but, ever the gentleman, stepped back. "Be my guest," he insisted.

"Sorry," she rambled. "It's just, I'm late and it's my first day at my new job."

 _Well, at least that makes a little more sense,_ he conceded silently. _It speaks well for her that she wants to make a good impression on her first day._

"At least you're employed," he remarked sardonically, glancing around at the hoards of technophiles surrounding him. _How do these people make a living if they do nothing but sit at coffee stands, trolling the internet all day?_

"An Aspen Skinny Vanilla Latte," she requested of the barista.

Oliver took note of how she ordered her beverage even as he remarked on "Everyone just sitting over there, staring off into Cyberspace."

"And he'll have a Steamboat Americano," she smiled.

 _Wait, did she really just order for me? What if I hate it? How does she even know what I would like?_ "What's that?" he asked, almost fearful of her answer.

"Large black coffee," she translated, grinning.

"Ah!" he exclaimed with a small chuckle. _OK, she's good. A little brash, perhaps, but good. Now that I know what coffee she likes, I hope I can repay her sometime._

She gestured at the people he had only moments ago been criticizing. "Most of these people actually ARE employed; they're just working from home. Theoretically."

Oliver stared at her incredulously. "And someone pays them, theoretically?" _What employer would do that? What benefit to any company can be brought by sitting in a park, sipping coffee, browsing Cyberspace?_

"Aspen Skinny Vanilla Latte," the barista announced, setting a small paper cup down. "And a Steamboat Americano," placing a large cup in front of Oliver.

"Gotta go," the blonde told Oliver, setting a ten down. "Keep the change," she directed at the barista.

Oliver placed his hat on his head and grabbed the large cup. "Thanks," he told the barista, who nodded.

 _What just happened here?_ He thought as he climbed back into his Jaguar. _That woman looked so familiar; I know I have seen her somewhere before. At least one good thing came of this encounter; I learned how to order coffee at a coffee shop!_

He was glad that he now knew that Steamboat meant large, Aspen meant small, and Americano means black coffee. He had no idea what a "Skinny Vanilla Latte" was or even what made it skinny, but since he was not drinking it, that was a moot point. He took a sip and sighed contentedly.

 _At least it's good coffee._

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8:00 AM, Shane's Point of View

Shane had speed-walked the three blocks to the Post Office and rushed in right on time. She asked for Andrea and was told to wait for a minute. That minute turned into ten before a sour-looking brunette came barging into the lobby.

"McInerney!" she announced unpleasantly. "Come with me." Shane followed her through the door into the myriad of hallways running through the production floor. "You'll be working for Oliver O'Toole; he's the Section Leader for the DLO."

"OK. Has he been there long?" Shane asked.

"He's worked in the DLO for about twelve or thirteen years; been Section Leader about 8 of those."

 _She's joking, right?_ Shane thought.

"There has to be some mistake. DLO has only been around for three years," she insisted.

"It's been around a hundred years," Andrea rebutted, "Although, if you ask me, it is useless and a complete waste of a perfectly good space."

Shane was affronted. How dare this woman!

"Direct Line Operations is not useless!" Shane exclaimed. "We manage comput-"

Andrea kept hurrying through the hallways toward that room in the very back corner of the basement that she hated. "I don't know what – whatever you just said – is, but the Dead Letter Office has been around, as I said, for a hundred years or more."

Understanding overtook Shane's face. There had been a miscommunication. _Thank goodness!_

"I told you, this is a mistake," she explained. "I am supposed to be assigned to Direct Line Operations as a Technical Systems Consultant."

Andrea opened Shane's file. "It says right here that you are DLO," she responded.

"Yeah, Direct Line Operations," Shane retorted. "That's what Washington is now calling Computer-Managed Delivery Services."

"Well, we're still calling it a Dead Letter Office," Andrea snarled.

 _What is_ _ **wrong**_ _with this woman?_ Shane demanded of herself.

"Look, if you just called the PG's Office in Washington," Shane sighed.

Andrea flipped around to look at Shane. "Yeah, that's a good idea," she mocked. "I'll call the Postmaster General, right after I return that call from the Secretary of Defense!"

 _Whoa, lady! No need to be snarky!_

"Okay," Shane laughed. "This is ridiculous. I don't belong here."

Andrea pointed her finger in Shane's face. "You wait right here," she instructed, stalking off.

 _Wow! If I have to deal with her every day, I might just kill myself._

Shane pulled out her phone and opened a new text message.

" _Got to my new job about twenty minutes ago,"_ she typed. _"There is a bit of a mix-up, but I expect to get that cleared up today. The supervisor is a real piece of work, though. She has not said one kind thing regarding anyone here or anything about USPS. She acts like she has a stick up her rear. I might just have to quit the Postal Service if I have to deal with her on a regular basis."_

She pressed send and received a reply within thirty seconds. _"We can't have that, can we?"_ she read. _"What's her name?"_

" _Andrea Schmeckle,"_ she replied.

" _I'll take care of it. Give me twenty-four hours."_

"McInerney!" she heard Andrea bellow.

"Thank you, Becky," she breathed, tucking her cell phone back into her pocket as she rounded the corner.

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8:17 AM Oliver's Point of View

Aside from that little incident with the blonde at the coffee stand, Oliver was having a wonderful morning. He had arrived at work a few minutes early to observe Norman and Rita going about their Monday-morning routines: Norman gathering the undeliverable packages for certified returns, and Rita collecting the Dead Letters from the Terminal Annex. She had handed them to him briefly to look through: a few notes, two cards, and a thick letter. He handed them back to her, instructing her to place them in his box. They would reveal themselves to his team when it was time.

He was jolted out of his musings by the grating sounds of Andrea's voice.

"Oliver!" she shouted, stalking up to him. "I want you to train this girl; she's a computer-something from Washington." She rolled her eyes.

 _She has_ _ **got**_ _to be out of her mind!_ Oliver thought. _I do not allow computers in my department._

"No," he said simply, shaking his head.

"I will fire you!" she warned him, narrowing her eyes.

 _With what authority, Andrea? You are not my boss and you know it!_

"I have a Government Service Pay Level higher than you can _count_ ," he pointed out.

Knowing he was correct, she pursed her lips. "I will take away your refrigerator," she threatened.

Oliver pounced on that as inspiration struck. She could not threaten him and they both knew it.

"You will return my Mr. Coffee," he ordered.

She cleared her throat nervously.

 _Come on, Andrea, if you need my help, then return my stolen property!_ He straightened up, watching her expectantly. _3, 2, 1…_

"Done!" she exclaimed, shaking her head.

He straightened up. "Send her in," he instructed smugly as she slammed the personnel file into his hands.

"McInerney!" she shouted behind her.

He was just raising his coffee to his lips again when he saw WHO this "McInerney" was. All the color drained from his face as he lowered his cup.

"It's you," he stated slowly. The blonde from the coffee stand that was late for the first day of her new job. Of all the jobs in all the cities in all the _world_ , she had to come walking into his.

Ms. McInerney stared at him dumbfoundedly. "Mr. Steamboat," she drawled, shaking her head. "Incredible!"

Andrea glanced back and forth between the two of them. "You know each other?!" she demanded.

They glanced at one another. "Theoretically," they replied in unison, smiling at the private joke.

Exasperated, Andrea sighed dramatically before turning on her heel.

Oliver almost-smiled as he rolled his eyes at Shane, indicating with his coffee cup that she was to follow him.

 _What have I gotten myself into?_ Shane asked herself as she trailed a few steps behind. _Not only have I been transferred into the Dead Letter Office, of all places, but I now work for this… this… human antique? I mean, the man can't even order a simple cup of coffee! Sure, he is good looking in the traditional sense…in fact, he kind of reminds me of the guy on Ugly Betty last night. Still, no good can come of this._

Oliver's mind was of a similar turn as he led the way to the DLO. _What have I gotten myself into? She is rude, and brash, and beautiful, and she is a fancy 'computer-something from Washington'! Oh, Happy Day! Wait, did I just say that she is beautiful? Why is that even an issue? It's the computer usage that is the problem. I do not need computers in my department; everything we need, we can gain from good, old-fashioned intellect. Lord, help me to see the good in this._

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 **A/N: Well, there it is! I am going to have to make Monday a two-chapter day, since I dedicated so much time to Shane and Oliver's meeting. I probably will not donate so much time and effort to every single on-screen scene, since it would take me a year to thoroughly explore just the back-door pilot, but the significant ones I will. So, Oliver has realized he has seen Shane somewhere before. Any guesses on when he will figure out where he had seen her? *Hint: you see him come to the realization on screen sometime in the first several episodes.**


	6. The Letter

**A/N: I still don't own anything other than my imagination; everything you recognize comes from the brilliant Martha Williamson. This is the second part of Monday, beginning after Andrea leaves Shane and Oliver at the Post Office.**

June 22, 8:25 AM

"Andrea says that you are from Washington," Oliver stated, holding open the batwing door that entered the hallway that would eventually lead them to the rear of the building and the DLO.

"Uh, yeah," replied Shane, nodding her thanks as she slid past him.

"Washington, D.C., State, Missouri, Georgia, Utah, Illinois, or Pennsylvania?" he inquired.

"D.C.," Shane laughed. She didn't think she had ever been asked that before.

Oliver headed to the garbage can halfway down the current hallway and dropped his now-empty cup in before reaching back for hers. "I'm glad we got to see each other again," he admitted. "I didn't thank you properly for the coffee this morning. I did appreciate it, however; I was having a bit of trouble making myself understood."

"A bit?" Shane asked, eyebrows raised. At Oliver's Look, she shrugged. "My pleasure. And I wanted to apologize to you. It was incredibly rude of me to barge in front of you like that; I don't know what I was thinking."

He began walking again. "Perhaps that you were running late for your first day at a new job and you didn't want to make a bad first impression?"

"Well…yes," she nodded.

"Apology accepted."

He pushed open the doors labeled "DLO" and hurried into the room; she followed a few steps behind.

"Rita, Norman," he announced, heading to the coat rack to hang up his hat. "Our ranks have been increased. "This is…this is…this" he turned to her, embarrassed to realize that he had just spent five minutes conversing with this woman and had failed to introduce himself or to ask her name. Some gentleman he was.

She caught on, however. "Uh, I'm Shane McInerney," she supplied.

 _Her name is Shane?_ Oliver thought. _Oh, dear, that just will not do. We will have to do something about that._

"Shane? I can't work with someone named 'Shane'," Oliver scoffed. "Norman, tell her why." He took off his suit jacket and hung it up.

Norman jumped nervously. "Uh, because at some point you, as Shane, will walk away and Oliver will need you to return," he began.

Oliver looked up from where he had been glancing at Shane's personnel file. "Very good. Go on," he instructed.

"And Oliver will be forced to say-,"

"Shane! Come back, Shane!" Rita finished dramatically.

 _Who_ _ **are**_ _these people?_ Shane asked herself. _And what does the final scene of that ridiculous Western have to do with anything?_

"At which point you will look at me with much the same vacancy you stare at me now," Oliver explained. "Utterly unaware of the unfortunate cinematic reference."

 _Unaware?_ Shane groaned inwardly. _Ha! Don't be so sure, Buster! I was_ _ **named**_ _after that stupid film!_

"Therefore, I shall call you…Cheryl!" he proclaimed triumphantly.

"Cheryl!" Shane breathed, insulted. _Who does this guy think that he is? God?_ "Well, I'm just here temporarily."

"And how wise for you to realize such a great truth so early on in life," he patronized her.

"What I mean is," she clarified, "there's been a mistake."

He picked up her file folder. "A merry mix-up, perhaps," he corrected. "Mistake? We shall see. Rita, please file this in a safe place," he continued, handing the petite brunette Shane's personnel file. The young lady dutifully skimmed the file and stuck it on top of a pile of paperwork.

"A photographic memory is a plus in this business," Oliver informed her, gesturing toward Rita, who blushed.

 _There is no way this woman can remember everything she just saw in my file from that one glance,_ Shane told herself. _Nobody has_ _ **that**_ _much of an eidetic memory._

Oliver headed to the refrigerator and pulled out…something…in a glass bottle. "I believe there are no coincidences, Ms. McInerney," he insisted. "Coincidence is the middle name of the Almighty."

Shane had been reading the titles of several newspaper clippings that were attached to the front of the refrigerator. "You did that?" she inquired, pointing.

Oliver followed her line of sight. _I wish we had,_ he sighed to himself. "No," he admitted to her. "But it is a standard to which we aspire, and one day we, too, shall join the pantheon of postal excellence, hm?"

Oliver continued to explain the faith people place in the Postal System. _Clearly he takes his job_ _ **very**_ _seriously,_ she admitted grudgingly to herself.

"Every letter that comes through the United States Postal System represents an act of faith," he began. "Faith that it will arrive on time and in good condition. Faith that what was written by the writER shall remain private until read by the…?"

"WritEE?" Shane inquired once it became obvious he was expecting her to answer.

As Oliver continued his lecture, Shane allowed her mind to wander. She had long since learned how to retain that which was spoken to her while not really paying much attention; it was a gift she had honed in college while double-majoring and double-minoring. She had enrolled, declaring a major and minor that suited her interests, then something Alex had said to her made her think that if she changed her major to suit their dad's interests instead, then he – a curator at an Art Museum – might want her in his life again. However, when she had tried to change her declarations, the clerk in the Student Services Office had bungled something up and she had been left with a double major and minor and no way to change it back.

When she heard Oliver compare opening a letter to performing an autopsy, she did a mental eye roll. "Oh, God help me," she muttered. _Does he actually believe this stuff?_

"This is a high calling indeed, Cheryl," he finished his speech.

"Shane," she corrected lowly. "It's Shane."

"Now it's time for some real work," he announced. Finally, he reached into the basket of letters and pulled out an envelope. "First name, intact: Thomas. Last name: P-E-R-something. Card has been ripped by…" he sniffed across the top of the envelope. "Canine," he supplied.

 _Can he really figure that out just by smelling the envelope?_ Shane wondered.

"Seattle postmark," she heard him continue his observations. "Not a birthday card."

 _How does he know that?!_

"Not a sympathy card."

 _Again, how does he know?_

"I'm guessing, Thinking of You."

 _Watch, it'll be a birthday card._

"Alright," he smiled. "We're going in." He selected a letter opener and settled against his desk just in time for the four of them to hear the batwing doors crash open.

Andrea came barging in, slamming a coffee pot down on a work bench. "McInerney!" she bellowed. "Guess what? There _is_ something in the system called Direct Line Operations."

"I know," Shane replied confidently.

"But it's not here; it's in Northglenn," Andrea continued.

"Great!" Shane hopped up and grabbed her purse. "I'm on my way!"

"Nah, not so fast, Missy," Andrea shook her head. "You got to _apply_ for reassignment and keep working here for _six weeks_ until we approve you for transfer."

"Transfer," Shane laughed before noticing Andrea's look. Her face fell. "You're joking, right?" _Please,_ _ **please**_ _tell me that you are joking._

Andrea wasn't joking. She held out her pen.

 _This is a nightmare. Soon enough I will wake up and this will all have been just a figment of my imagination,_ Shane told herself, accepting the pen. She started to ask why it would take so long but thought better of it. Sighing in frustration, she signed the forms.

"Hard to imagine she was Miss Special Delivery of 1999, isn't it?" Oliver asked pleasantly once Andrea had left.

 _She was_ _ **what**_ _?! Who in their right mind would have voted for her?_

"Shall we continue?" Oliver slit the top of the envelope open and replaced the letter opener as Shane stalked across the room and slumped in a chair.

When he had pulled out the card, Shane could plainly read "Thinking of You" written on the front. Really? _How does he do that?_

"' _Let's Catch Up'_ ," he read. " _'Stopped by Curios after lunch but you were on a break.'_ Norman?"

"Curios, I'm on it," he replied, stepping on a chair to grab a phone book from the piles of them behind his desk.

Shane pulled her laptop out of her purse. "You guys do know that we are in the twenty- _first_ century, right?" she asked, opening her computer. _Honestly, half the clutter in this department would be cleared up if they would just learn to use a computer._

"Look at antique stores and gift shops, as well," Oliver instructed.

"Ah, I've got this," Shane asserted. "Googling 'Curios Seattle'…"

"Curios Antiques!" Norman announced proudly. "Proprietor Thomas Perkins, P-E-R."

"That's impressive," Shane allowed. _These people can't be for real! It's like I stepped through a looking glass into a hundred years in the past!_

"Child's play," Oliver told her. The letter was readdressed and sent off with a precision that Shane had to admit was admirable. This team had been together for a long time, and it showed. They worked well together.

Shane asked why there was no system to choosing which letter was selected, and mentally cringed when Oliver told her the Providential nature of their delivery process.

"And you really believe that?" she inquired when he had finished.

"Take today, for example," he shrugged. "In all the coffee shops in all the towns in all the _world_ -"

"You walked into mine," she supplied sardonically.

"Yes! And just as everything in the Dead Letter Office was originally intended for someplace else, and yet, for some Providential reason, they have been misdirected. Temporarily, of course, not unlike…you." He grabbed another envelope randomly out of the basket.

She wanted to ask him to clarify something, but Norman shushed her and she watched in amazement as they analyzed the envelope addressed to "Charlie, no surname" from "Kelly from Washington Park".

"I used to ride bikes in Washington Park all the time," Rita announced when they came to the type of stamp chosen. "There's a funny old man there named Stumpy; he rents Schwinns."

Shane was fascinated to see them identify the age, gender, sentimentality, and mental outlook of the writer simply by observing the strokes of the pen and factoring in the stamp. _They are certainly a very observant group._

Oliver carefully opened the envelope, pulling out several pages of paper and something small and circular. A button, maybe?

"' _June 26_

"' _Dear Charlie,'_ " Oliver began reading, then stopped suddenly, studying the envelope. "The postmark is May 22; this letter is almost a year old. It never entered the system."

"Until a week ago?" Shane asked, surprised. _Actually, it's more like a month, but still, the fact remains. Why would she wait so long to mail a letter? Why mail it at all if she was going to wait so long?_

"A floater!" Norman announced excitedly. "We have a floater!"

 _What is a floater? I swear, I have no idea what this guy is talking about!_

"' _Dear Charlie,_

"' _I wanted to be sure you got your button back, and I wanted to explain about last night.'_ Oh, dear. Another one of those 'I can explain everything' apologetics, replete with an article of clothing! You see, these letters are usually accompanied by liberal references to Jell-O shots and tequila," he informed her.

She stood up. "So much for divine intervention," she mocked him, walking toward the door. She had heard enough; she would text Becky to expedite her transfer request through the system.

"' _Dear Charlie,_

"' _I wanted to be sure you got your button back, and I wanted to explain about last night. Walking away…'_ " he trailed off. "Oh, good heavens," he sighed after a few seconds, taking a sip from his mug only to find it empty.

Shane had stopped walking and turned around when he had interjected the letter again.

He took a sip from the glass jar on his desk and continued. " _'Walking away and leaving you standing in the park was the hardest thing I have ever done, except what I am going to say next: I had to leave because I couldn't let you watch me die.'_ Norman, I'm going to need another YooHoo."

 _What on earth is a YooHoo, and why is a grown man drinking it?_ Shane wondered before asking Rita what it was as Norman fetched a bottle from the refrigerator.

"YooHoo," Rita answered dully. "He hardly ever has two before noon." _Except when he comes across a particularly upsetting letter,_ Rita added to herself. _Poor Oliver!_

Norman added a story about having met the president of the YooHoo company on a bus trip in Mexico. Why that information was pertinent, Shane had no idea.

Oliver poured a measure of the chocolate beverage into his cup before taking a long drink and turning his attention back to the letter. "OK, now where were we?" he asked.

"Uh, _'I couldn't let you watch me die,'_ " Rita supplied.

"Uh, oh yes, here it is, uh _'The truth is I'm sick. I'm really sick, Charlie, and for the longest time, all I've been thinking about is just trying to stay alive. And then yesterday, I stepped into that elevator and there you were.'_ A nice Irish name," he commented. "Kelly with a 'y'. And correctly spelled. Why do parents insist on being unnecessarily creative these days: Kelli with an 'i', Kellie with an 'ie', Kellye with a 'ye'?"

 _Who cares?_ Shane shouted at him in her head. _Get back to the letter! What happens next?_ "So, he just left her in the elevator?" she asked to get Oliver back on track.

"Oh, yes. Um… _'The truth is, Charlie, I don't know who saved whose life that day. You may have saved mine. I won't know for awhile. But I'll always cherish the day you quit Miller, Miller, Miller & Schwartz-'_ There you go!" he stopped reading, folded the letter, and placed it back in it's envelope.

"What are you doing?" Shane demanded, shaken out of the imagery created by the letter he had been reading. "Keep going."

"Oh, there's no need," he explained. _She still does not get it,_ he thought exasperatedly. _This is not the O'Toole Storytime Hour; we have a job to do, and we respect the privacy of others while doing it._ "Miller, Miller, Miller & Schwartz. Rita?"

"Oh, Mergers and Acquisitions, the Colorado Bank Building, 9424 Lincoln Street."

"We send their Human Relations office a form 407B requesting the names of terminations of June 26 of last year with the first name of Charles or Charlie," Norman informed her.

"But what about Kelly?" Shane asked, curious. "What is she dying of? Is she gonna live?"

"Reading any further than necessary violates the Prime Directive," Oliver reiterated.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me!" Shane exclaimed, frustrated.

"He's not kidding," Norman assured her.

"We don't kid. We're not kidders," Rita added.

 _That, I can easily believe,_ Shane stated mentally. Aloud, she said, "You know darn well it'll take weeks before some drone in HR to pulls out some old employment records to help out the United States Post Office. Meanwhile, Charlie is out there somewhere, wondering why the girl of his dreams just blew him off when they were so obviously falling in love."

"There is nothing in her that indicates they were in love," Oliver stated.

" _Everything_ in that letter so far indicates that they were falling in love!" Shane spat out, turning to the only other female for support. "Right, Rita?"

The younger woman stumbled over her words, shyly glancing at Norman, as she made it known that she had never been in love with someone who was in love with her at the same time.

Norman mentioned a book he had read about chemical changes in baboons. Shane patronizingly requested that he bring that book in the next day.

"Look, if there's a chance that reading one more line could give us a truly solid shot at redirecting that letter to poor Charlie, then don't we owe it to him – and to Kelly?" she pointed out. "I mean, in all the elevators in all the towns in all the _world_ …" she trailed off, gazing at Oliver.

"'We?'" Oliver quoted. _I thought she couldn't wait to leave this department?_ "You mean us, Ms. McInerney? Or could it be that you've already taken our little enterprise into your heart?" _Not likely; she just was caught up in the story and is curious how it turns out._ "It's very touching, but the answer is no," he finished concisely, placing the letter on the "Pending" board.

Shane waited until everyone else was otherwise occupied before walking past the board, pulling Kelly's letter out, and tucking it under her jacket. A few moments later and it was placed securely into the side pocket of her purse.

The rest of the morning passed uneventfully. Oliver pulled out a couple more cards that were solved and sent off to their intended recipients within a few minutes of pulling them out of the basket. At noon, Oliver announced that they would regroup after lunch.

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12:58 PM

Oliver returned to the DLO to find Shane absentmindedly chewing on a sandwich as she browsed the internet.

"You didn't leave for lunch, Ms. McInerney?" he inquired.

She glanced up, folding her computer. "I don't really know the area, so I bought a tuna sandwich in the break room," she replied quietly. "I'm sorry for eating it in here-"

"Please don't apologize," he interjected. "This is your work space, too, and as long as no messes are made, I don't object to you utilizing it on your time off." Something she had just said clicked in his brain. "You don't know the area…how long have you been in Denver?" he asked as Rita then Norman entered the room.

"I received my transfer orders on Thursday morning, and was booked on the red-eye that night," she replied.

"You've only been in town for four days?" Rita asked, eyes growing large. "You poor thing…I bet you don't know anybody!"

"Do I _know_ anybody here?" Shane asked. "No. However, I have _met_ a very sweet young lady named Rita, who clearly loves owls if her necklace is any indication, with the most amazing memory I have ever seen, spouting off building names and street addresses as if she were reading them off a piece of paper; and I have met an interesting guy named Norman, who is full of random and fun facts, and can look up an address in a phone book faster than lightning; and I have met an impressive Postal Detective named Oliver O'Toole, who is clearly from another era, can identify the contents of an envelope without even opening it, and who has no idea how to order coffee."

"Sounds like you do know some people, then, Ms. McInerney," Oliver pointed out. "Wait, how do you know my last name?"

"Andrea," Shane answered sheepishly. "When I arrived this morning she told me I would be working for Oliver O'Toole."

"We should show you around town!" Rita offered excitedly.

"Later, Rita," Oliver stated, straightening up. "First, we still have some more work to do."

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4:45 PM

Rita was sorting through the incoming bins when an envelope caught her eye. It was a card, looked like a birthday card, and was addressed to 'Shane McInerney' in Washington DC. _Can it be_ _ **our**_ _Shane?_ she wondered idly. She glanced at the return address, but it was obscured. The postmark was dated April 28 of the previous year. _Hey, that's two days before Shane's birthday! I bet this_ _ **is**_ _a birthday card for her!_

She retrieved a manila envelope, readdressing the card:

Ms. Shane McInerney

United States Post Office

C/O Dead Letter Office

90144 Downing Street

Denver, Colorado 80209

She sent it off in the chute to the Terminal Annex. It being the end of the day, it would get mailed on Wednesday.

Oliver was putting his desk in order when his gaze glanced by the "Pending" board. He had kept looking at it all afternoon; there was just _something_ different about it. A minute later it hit him: Kelly's letter was missing. He distinctly remembered placing it at the top of the board that morning, but – come to think of it – hadn't seen it there since.

His gaze shifted to Ms. McInerney. She was the only one in the department brazen enough – or curious enough – to have violated Postal Service Regulation 67(k). Noting that the office was tidied up for the evening, Oliver bid Norman and Rita a pleasant evening and approached Shane, who was placing her laptop inside her purse.

"Ms. McInerney," he began. "Since you are new to town and unfamiliar with your new surroundings, I wonder if you will accompany me on a short walk?"

"A walk?" she repeated. "Where?" _What is he up to? He must be up to something; he's wearing a wedding ring so I know he is not desperate for female companionship._

"A local gathering place," he replied. "Somewhere many of our colleagues go to unwind after work."

"You mean a bar," she translated. "Why didn't you just ask if I wanted to go have a drink with you?"

"I, uh, didn't want you to think I was, uh…" he stuttered.

"OK, Oliver," she agreed, attempting to make him more comfortable. "I'll go with you." She picked up her purse and followed him out the door.

"So where are you staying until you find a place?" he inquired once they were outside.

"How do you know I haven't already found a place, she countered?

"You walked up to the coffee shop this morning," he observed.

"Very astute but what does that have to do with anything?"

"It is an awfully long walk from the residential district to that coffee shop," he pointed out. "And you were running late."

She thought about it for a moment. "I'm staying at the Brown Palace until the house I bought two days ago closes," she sighed.

"When will that be?"

"Five weeks," Shane admitted.

Oliver did not bother asking how someone at her Government Service Pay Level could afford to stay at a hotel for over a month; especially one as nice as the Brown Palace. He gestured at a door. "We're here," he announced, pulling open the door.

Shane glanced up. The name above the door read, "The Mailbox Grille." As they entered, she saw a dimly-lit bar brimming with Postal workers still in their Postal blues, decorated with strings of postcards.

"I have heard of cop cars and sports bars and mafia bars, but I have never been to a Postal bar," Shane commented drily.

"Well, everyone needs a place to decompress with their peers," Oliver explained. Glancing around, he added, "Actually, these are not my peers, but they are clearly yours and I thought that you might enjoy it here."

"Aren't you a charmer," she intoned, leaning against the bar. _I can't make this guy out,_ she complained to herself. _One moment he's being exceptionally kind, and the next so full of himself I'm worried he'll have trouble getting through the door._

"Hey! Shane!" Rita shouted from the jukebox. "You spell 'McInerney' with an 'M-C', right?"

"Uh, yeah," Shane replied. _What does it matter how I spell it?_

"Oh, Excellent!" Rita grinned. "I have a surprise for you." She went back to the jukebox.

 _OK, that was…odd,_ Shane thought.

"Rita is a connoisseur of the carefully-crafted daiquiri," Oliver informed her.

 _Ah…that makes sense now! She's drunk!_

"Barkeep," Oliver tapped the bar. "Gin Rickey, please. Hold the 'Rickey'."

"Make that two," Shane requested. "And oh, do you have wings?"

Norman came up and stood next to Shane at the bar, sighing loudly. "Miller, Miller, Miller & Schwartz was sued for fraud and went out of business six months ago," he announced, indicating to the bartender that he wanted his usual.

"Well, so much for our only lead," Oliver stated tiredly, rubbing his eyes.

"You could have let me look this Charlie guy up and it would have taken me thirty seconds," Shane reminded him.

"This is not a race we run, Ms. McInerney; it is a journey." _Does she not understand the purpose of this calling? That the letters we deliver get delivered right when they are supposed to be; right when they are needed the most?_

"It is a _job_ , Oliver! You deliver one letter and the next day there are a hundred more to take its place. It's a losing battle, an exercise in futility; It's not some 'woo-woo' spiritual journey!"

"'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy,'" quoted Oliver.

 _Perfect! He's a Shakespeare buff! Of course he is; he would_ _ **have**_ _to ruin that love of mine, to._

"It's not Horatio; it's Cheryl," Norman reminded Oliver.

"It's Shane!" she cried.

"It's Shakespeare, Peasants," Oliver stated. "You may lack a sense of destiny, but you do have one characteristic that, if carefully cultivated, could be…helpful. It's something I like to call 'curiosity'."

 _Really?_ _ **You**_ _call it that?_ She smiled.

"You wanted to know why we're here?" he asked.

Shane inclined her head in agreement.

Oliver reached his hand down into the side pocket of her purse, pulled out Kelly's letter, and dropped it onto the bar in front of her. Norman choked on his Tequila Sunrise when he saw it.

"I can explain!" Shane exclaimed, then thought better of it. "OK, I can't explain. But I _can_ tell you that I didn't read it, so technically-"

Norman cut her off. "Unauthorized removal is a gross violation of regulation 67(k)!" he reminded her.

"Yes,' Oliver stared at her. "It is. But in this case," he picked up the letter and leaned closer to her. "A convenient one." He walked away, smiling to himself that he managed to render her speechless.

"What?" Norman asked, hurrying after Oliver, who had removed to a table to afford his group a little more privacy.

Shane followed slowly. "I thought you never broke the rules?" she asked quietly. _Did I do this to him? Make him do something against his character just so that I could satisfy my curiosity?_

He busied himself unfolding the letter. "Apparently we have you to do that for us. I, however, on occasion must _bend_ the law in order to uphold the _spirit_ of the law. Norman, please retrieve Rita; she won't want to miss this." Once Norman had gone, Oliver pushed the small dish of bar nuts towards his new colleague. "Nuts?" He glanced up at her once, then refocused on the letter.

"Thank you," she stated softly, looking down.

He looked up, gazing at her for a few seconds before asking, "For what?"

She cringed mentally, hating that she had forced him into breaking his own rules. "For outing me here and not back at the office in front of Andrea," she explained. _I'm sorry, Oliver._

"I prefer to do as little as possible in front of Andrea," he replied. _Apology accepted, Ms. McInerney._

They smiled briefly at one another, peace once again momentarily restored between them.

Norman returned, Rita in tow. "Welcome, Rita," Oliver greeted her briskly. "I assume you remember where we left off?"

Rita sighed, thinking back. " _'I'll always cherish the memory of that day,'_ " she quoted.

"Oh, here it is," Oliver stated. " _'…when we met and tried so hard not to fall in love.'_ " Remembering what Shane had said earlier on that same subject, he glanced up at her. _You were right, Ms. McInerney,_ he conceded inwardly. _You win this round._

"No texting, no tweeting; a girl after my own heart," he stated, flipping through the pages.

"What about Charlie? Is he in or is he out?" Rita demanded, sitting up.

"Well, from the _length_ of this letter I assume he bought into the unorthodox plan, but if the last pages yield as few clues as the first ones we'll be hard pressed to find the writer," Oliver replied.

"Or the writee," Norman added.

"I've got an idea," Shane announced.

"Oh, Happy Day!" Oliver regarded her steadily.

"In the letter, it says that they went to a park together, right?" she asked.

"Kelly from Washington Park, yeah," Oliver nodded. _Where are you going with this, Ms. McInerney?_

"I have a proposition," she asserted.

"No," Oliver shook his head. "Whatever it is, no."

Shane ignored him. "She used a bicycle stamp," she looked at Rita. "And you said that she was sentimental, right?"

Rita nodded eagerly.

"I bet they went to that park and rented bikes from Rita's little old man!" Shane proclaimed.

"Schwinns!" Rita exclaimed excitedly.

"Schwinns," Shane smiled triumphantly.

"Oh, Schwinns," Norman repeated.

"I propose," she continued. "We go to the park. Tomorrow. On our lunch break, and talk to him."

"This is HIGHLY irregular," Oliver protested.

"We're looking for clues in a love letter that won't all _be_ in the letter!" Shane argued.

"Yeah, and some of us could really use some fresh air," Norman pleaded. _Please, Oliver? I really need to get away from Andrea for an hour!_

"Yeah, Oliver," Shane sidled up to him, entering his personal space just enough to challenge him. "Are you in or are you out?"

Oliver gazed at each of his employees, knowing she had a point. "I'm in," he conceded.

"Good!" Shane smiled brightly; the first genuine one she had had all day.

 _She has a beautiful smile,_ Oliver thought uneasily.

"Is anyone else hungry?" Shane inquired.

"I'm starving," Norman answered her, grinning.

"I'm hungry, too," Rita agreed.

"I suppose I could eat," Oliver acknowledged. "It's really too bad that the Mailbox Grille does not offer more than standard bar snacks. Where shall we go?"

"I will leave the decision up to the three of you," Shane announced, palms up. "I'm new in town, remember?"

"Where have you already eaten?" Oliver inquired.

"I have eaten at my hotel, mostly," Shane laughed. "Oh, and I had dinner with my realtor at the Meadowlark Kitchen on Saturday night."

"We will introduce you to the area, Ms. McInerney," Oliver promised. "Is everyone OK with Italian food?" At their nods, he added, "There is a restaurant I have heard good things about but never eaten at; it's called Gaetano's. Perhaps we might go there for dinner?" At their nods, he paid for their drinks and the four colleagues left the restaurant, heading towards Oliver's car.

When she saw it, Shane stopped short. She knew she had seen that car before; she just couldn't pinpoint where it was she had seen it.

"Ms. McInerney? Are you coming?" Oliver asked, standing next to the passenger-side door.

"Of course, forgive me. My mind was…wandering," she apologized. Oliver opened the door for her, then closed it firmly after she had settled herself in.

Within fifteen minutes, they had arrived at their destination and were being seated in at a table along the back wall. Norman and Rita slid into the booth, so Oliver held out a chair for Shane.

"Thank you," she said, sitting as he gently pushed in her chair before settling next to her.

Oliver ordered a bottle of Montepulciano for the table and the four glanced at the menu while they waited for their wine to be served.

"Does anyone want to split a pizza with me?" Shane asked. The mushroom pizza sounded amazing, but she wouldn't be able to eat the whole thing alone.

"I will," Oliver offered. "Shall we order a charcuterie platter and some bruschetta for the table, as well?"

Norman and Rita each opted for pasta – the carbonara and the clams aglio e olio, respectively – and they all placed their orders a few moments later when the waitress brought their wine.

The next hour passed companionably. Occasionally Oliver, Norman, or Rita would ask Shane a question about her time in DC, but for the most part they chatted about things to see and do in Denver. By tacit agreement, nobody would mention the letter again until their field trip the next day.

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8:00 PM

Oliver pulled up to the front door of the Brown Palace. He had already driven Norman and Rita home, and had insisted on driving Shane back to her hotel.

"Thank you, Oliver," she stated sincerely. "For everything. I mean it."

"My pleasure," he replied. "Have a good evening, Ms. McInerney. I will see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," she agreed, climbing out of the car and closing the door behind her before walking through the door to the hotel.

 _Lord, I don't know what it is about that woman,_ Oliver prayed. _But there is_ _ **something**_ _about her that has me intrigued. She is challenging in a way I have never known, not even with Holly. However, like Holly, she will decide to leave. I pray you work on her, Lord. Change her heart; help her to love the Dead Letter Office as much as Norman, Rita and I do. And Lord, I am sure You are behind my sensing this, but she seems troubled by something. Perhaps something in her personal life? Whatever it is, Lord, I pray that it is healed quickly. In Jesus' name I pray, Amen._

He started his car and drove home. Tomorrow was going to be a big day.

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 **A/N: Well, there it is! I apologize it took so long to get this chapter out; it took much longer to write than I had expected! Still, it is also much longer than any of my other posts, too, so hopefully that is some compensation for you! Please review and let me know what you thought of it! Up next: Tuesday and their field trip in the park!**


	7. The Field Trip

**A/N: I still own nothing. They all belong to Martha Williamson; I just get to borrow them for a while. Also, while rereading the last chapter, I realized I had unknowingly had Rita eating clams while drinking red wine *wink*. I swear, that was not intentional, lol!**

Tuesday, June 23, 2014

7:20 AM

Shane entered the DLO after a sleepless night, placing her bag next to the chair she had occupied for so much of the previous day. She had bypassed the Denver Bean Coffee House this morning in order to avoid seeing Oliver there; her thoughts about him were still muddled and she wanted to clear her head before she decided whether he was a friend or not. She had entered work early in order to avoid seeing Andrea.

 _No sense starting my day off on the wrong foot,_ she thought practically. _Andrea definitely has a unique gift for bringing out the worst in people._

Thinking of Andrea, however, brought to Shane's mind a memory from the day before.

"The coffee maker!" Shane snapped her fingers, looking around for the machine.

She spotted it on a small table near Oliver's desk, along with filters and a container of Folger's. Soon she had the pot brewing and she pulled out a mug from below the pot. She added sugar and powdered creamer to the cup and set it down until the coffee was done brewing.

The door squeaked and she turned around, surprised to see Oliver walking in.

"Ms. McInerney," he blinked. "Good morning. You're here early."

"Morning, Oliver. Sorry, I didn't mean to bother anyone here. Couldn't sleep," she admitted.

"Was it that terrible for you yesterday?" he asked, not unkindly.

Shane laughed. "No," she replied. "This has nothing to do with you, Norman, or Rita. I just, uh, I have some…personal things…to work out that I realized when you dropped me off last night. It's kind of been an ongoing…situation…with, well, with someone in my life, or rather, who _was_ in my life. Thinking about it kept me awake, that's all."

The pot chimed and Shane, anxious for a reason to remove the focus from herself, smiled in relief. "Coffee's done!" she breathed, pulling out the pot and filling her cup. She grabbed the cup Oliver had been using the day before and filled it, turning to hand it to him when she was done.

"Thank you," he acknowledged softly, accepting the cup from her. _Lord, I knew there was something troubling her. You always reveal Yourself and I believe that You placed her troubles on my heart for a reason. Relieve her suffering, Lord. Comfort her heart as only You can. Help her to know that – regardless of whether she stays or goes, despite our differences, and notwithstanding the fact that she is the most exasperatingly curious woman I have ever met – I care about her as my colleague and am here for her just as I am for Rita and just as I am for Norman. All she needs to do is ask, and my help and support are granted to her no questions asked. You placed her into my life and into my care yesterday, Lord, and I do not take that responsibility lightly. Amen._

Shane took a sip of her coffee – fixed exactly the same way she fixed it at home – and nearly gagged. The coffee here was swill! Grimacing inwardly, and mentally vowing never to forgo the coffee shop again, Shane sipped about a quarter of her cup before she just couldn't take anymore, then set the mug to the side and focused on getting ready for the day.

Norman and Rita entered the room a short time later, and their day officially began. There wasn't anything new in their basket, so they spent the morning working on the bin of certified returns Norman had filled the prior day. They had processed almost all of them when the rumbling in Shane's stomach indicated that lunchtime must be getting near. She was debating whether or not to purchase another half a tuna sandwich when she remembered that they were not eating lunch that day; they had made arrangements to spend their lunch hour at Washington Park, interviewing Rita's little old man about Kelly and Charlie.

"Everyone, let's head to our lunch break a little early," Oliver suggested. "We have been working steadily for several hours and I believe we could all use some sustenance during our field trip. Perhaps we can find a deli on the way?

The other three readily agreed and packed up. They managed to avoid seeing Andrea on their way out – for which they were ALL grateful – and climbed back in to Oliver's car. He entered traffic and drove to a little hole-in-the-wall Jewish deli located just a few blocks from the park. He asked the others to stay in the car, ran into the deli, and returned a few moments later with a large box. He climbed in then handed the box to Shane, who was in the passenger's seat, and started the car.

"Just put the box on the floor, Ms. McInerney," Oliver instructed. "We shall eat our lunch after the trip into the park." Since he didn't see the purpose of this plan, he didn't really expect to be in the park long.

The four exited the vehicle after Oliver parked, then Rita led the way to where Stumpy's Bike Rental was located. Except, when they got there, they didn't find Stumpy at all. Just an automated dispenser that handed out keys to the bike chains after payment has been made.

"Oh, oh no!" Shane exclaimed quietly.

"I can't believe this," Rita gasped. "He- he used to sit right here, and now he's being replaced by…this!"

"Another dreadful example of unnecessary automation," Oliver explained, glancing at Shane. "Well, shall we continue?" He pulled out the letter and unfolded it.

"'Read on, McDuff,'" Shane quoted. At Norman's confused look, she clarified, "Shakespeare."

"' _I know I gave you a pretty crazy reason for only spending one day together, Charlie, but the truth is, I only had one day to spend. But spending it with you made all the difference._

"' _I think that was the moment I realized how much I wanted to live, how much I needed to believe in a Someday, with you in it. Maybe that's how it feels to fall in love, Charlie: when you can't wait for tomorrow.'_ "

Oliver trailed off, lost in thought. His gaze was settled on the creek in front of him, but he wasn't really seeing it. _She didn't wait for tomorrow, Lord. She wouldn't even try. She just…left. Who does that to the man they profess to love? It's becoming increasingly clear to me from this letter that Shane – Ms. McInerney – was correct yesterday: these two were definitely in love. And I can't help but make comparisons between their love story and my own and find mine falling far short of the mark. What could I have done differently, Father, to get her to look forward to a life with me the same way Kelly did to a life with Charlie?_

Shane studied Oliver's profile as he trailed off and eventually stopped reading. Norman was chatting with Rita about…something…to do with Martha Washington, but Shane paid little attention. Her attention was focused on Oliver, as it was clear to her that he was struggling with something.

 _Perhaps something in his personal life?_ She wondered. She knew from observation that he was married, yet he never even mentioned his wife. Were they on the rocks? Separated? Maybe he was a widower who just wasn't ready to remove his ring? Whatever it was, however, was troubling him now and Shane decided she needed to be the one to pull him out of his mood and get him back on track.

She came up behind him on the right so she had a great view of his profile, made a "camera" with her hands, and pressed the imaginary shutter release. "Click," she said softly.

That did it. He turned around and approached his group. "I don't see the purpose in continuing this field trip," he stated.

Shane had known he would say that. "Alright, just a little bit longer, Oliver. Please?" she pleaded, approaching him. "Just read a little bit more. There's got to be something in that letter that will help us, if we put ourselves in Charlie and Kelly's place."

"I am not swinging across a creek," he scoffed.

"Fine," she conceded. _I wouldn't have expected you to, anyway. Although someday, that might be fun to see._

"And tomorrow, everything goes back to normal?" he stipulated.

Shane nodded once. "Mmm-hmm," she assented. "If that's what you consider normal."

"' _I wanted to tell you everything right then, Charlie, but I didn't want to break the spell. I've always been good at putting off the hard stuff.'_ "

Shane looked around and, spotting the swings, rushed over. "I bet I can swing high enough to see the house he showed her," she announced, toeing off her heels and setting down her purse. She hopped onto the swing and began pumping her legs to gain momentum. After a few swings, she felt a slight pressure on her bottom as she swung back, then a firmer pressure and faster speed as she rushed forward. Turning her head, she saw Oliver behind her, readying himself to give her another push.

She tried to ignore the tingling sensation that emanated through her from where his hands touched her briefly every few seconds and concentrated instead on looking for that house. "Higher!" she shouted, strangely pleased to feel another gentle pressure and another burst of speed.

Oliver felt awkward touching Shane…there. He knew, however, that there was no gentlemanly place to put his hands while pushing her on a swing and that, without him pushing her, she would never gain the momentum to see over the trees to the next street over. Still, if there had been any other way to see that house, he would gladly have taken it, as he was beginning to feel guilty for placing his hands on any woman who was not his wife.

"There it is!" Shane shouted, startling Oliver out of his reverie.

"What, the blue gate?" he asked, hopeful.

"Yeah, the blue gate!" she confirmed, dragging her feet in order to slow down faster. Ordinarily she would have simply jumped off the swing at its highest trajectory – she had loved doing that as a child – but she wasn't wearing shoes at the moment and who knew what unpleasant things were lurking in the grass, just out of sight?

Oliver grabbed the swing, slowing it fast enough to allow Shane to run off it. "Let's go," she breathed excitedly, heading to collect her things.

"Wait," Rita interjected. "Did Kelly go? Did she show up tomorrow…last year?"

Oliver sighed. "It's not up to us to decide what-" he was cut when Shane pulled the letter out of his hand and began reading it herself.

"' _And then, even though I wanted to come back and find you waiting there for me on the steps by the blue gate, I couldn't,'_ " she read.

"Oh, that's very disappointing," Norman stated defeatedly.

Shane raised her hand to signal that she wasn't done. " _'But I can explain. With all my talk about courage, you were the one that took the big leap yesterday, and now it's my turn. I am going to do what I have to do to get myself well._

"' _If it works, let's meet a year from today, on the twenty-sixth, and we'll go on a second date. But if I am not there waiting for you on the bridge at six o'clock, you'll know it's only because the leap I had to make was just too far._

"' _Whatever happens, Charlie, sew this button on and go out into the world. And if you ever want to spend that day with me again, just remember how it started. Just remember: "Life is Short"._

"' _Love, Kelly'_ "

Norman thought of something. "Oh, man!" he cried. "What's today?"

Realization dawned in Rita's face. "The 23rd," she replied. "Oh, wow."

"Charlie has no idea they're supposed to meet in three days," Shane concluded.

"That's assuming she took the leap," Oliver pointed out somberly, "and made it to the other side."

"I know we've already been out here for longer than our lunch hour," Norman began as the foursome headed for the street where the house with the blue gate was. "But I am starving. Is there any way we can eat before we find Charlie's house?"

"Lunch," Oliver remembered. "I am so sorry, everyone; I completely forgot! Of course, Norman, we'll eat. Why don't you and Rita find us a picnic table, and Ms. McInerney and I will fetch the box from the car?"

Shane nodded, following Oliver back to his Jaguar. "It's kind of you to buy our meals, Oliver," she began hesitantly. "But you don't have to, at least for me. I'm used to fending for myself, and I don't mind doing it."

"I had surmised that already, Ms. McInerney," he replied, remembering his prayer from that morning. "But we are a team at the DLO – which includes you for as long as you will be with us – and teams do not let individual members 'fend for themselves'."

In a softer tone – so soft she had to lean towards him to hear – he stated, "You don't need to be so self-sufficient all the time. You were placed in my department and in my care for a reason. I don't know what that reason is at the moment; I trust that it will be revealed to me in time. All that matters right now is that you understand that you have a place at the DLO for as long as you want it; you have a home here, Ms. McInerney, and we – Norman, Rita and I – are happy to share your burden if you let us. That's what we do."

Blinking back tears, Shane nodded. "I'll keep that in mind," she promised.

"Good," he replied briskly, opening the door and pulling out the box from Zaidy's Deli.

"As long as," she stipulated, stopping him short by grabbing a hole where one of his hands was. "You allow me to pull my weight."

Oliver smiled. "I think I can probably live with that," he allowed, gently shifting the weight on that side of the box from his right hand to hers.

"So, what did you order, and how did they make it so fast?" Shane asked, eyeing the size of the box. "You were barely in the deli for five minutes."

"I called the order in this morning before I left my house and told them about what time I would be picking it up," he answered. "They are a very popular and busy place, especially at lunch. We could easily have spent half our lunch hour just waiting for the food to arrive."

"Not that that would have made much of a difference," Shane pointed out wryly. "We've already been out of the office for nearly three hours; Andrea must be having an apoplectic fit without the DLO to terrorize."

Oliver laughed – a true, hearty laugh – and Shane smiled. They arrived at the bench Norman and Rita had commandeered for their meal, and Oliver opened the box. Inside, there was everything they would need for a picnic: a checkered tablecloth, napkins, plastic plates, cups and cutlery, a carafe of lemonade, four pastrami sandwiches on rye, a large container of potato salad, a large container of potato chips, a large container of coleslaw, some pickles, and a dozen rugelach cookies.

Rita and Shane covered the table with the cloth and set out the plates, cups, cutlery, and napkins while Oliver and Norman pulled the food out and placed it on the table. The box was placed under the table until it was needed again. Norman and Rita sat next to each other again, so Oliver took the remaining seat next to Shane.

Rita watched with a smile as Shane placed one of the paper-wrapped sandwiches and a handful of chips on Oliver's plate before doing the same with her own, and Oliver scooped some potato salad and some coleslaw onto both their plates. Shane poured them each a cup of lemonade and Oliver handed her a couple of the cookies he had already placed on his plate. _Something is different with those two_ , she thought. _I wonder what happened between the swing set and the car, and the car and the table._

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3:30 PM

After lunch, they packed up the leftovers from their lunch, threw away the trash, and walked to the street two blocks over, where Shane said she had seen the house with the blue gate. Once they were on the street, it didn't take long to spot the house.

"Well, I don't see another house on this street with a blue gate and a flag," Rita mentioned, glancing up and down the street.

"Who's gonna knock?" Shane asked.

"There will be no knocking," Oliver replied.

"We have the address now," Norman added, jotting it down in his notebook. "We'll go back to the office, follow procedure, before we get into trouble."

"Seriously, we're here; let's just-" She protested.

"That's unacceptable, Ms. McInerney," Oliver insisted, grabbing the letter out of her hand before she got it into her head to walk up to the door with it. "Besides, I thought you would welcome the opportunity to show us what that fancy laptop of yours can do."

 _Touche, Oliver,_ she acknowledged with an exasperated sigh. _I did want to be more useful._

The ride back to the DLO was uneventful and silent, each of the four team members lost in thought. Within fifteen minutes, they entered their office.

"I want you to see if you can find out Charlie's last name so we can properly address this letter," Oliver requested. "Can you do that?"

Shane nodded. "Of course," she assured him. "Give me two seconds." She pulled her laptop out of her purse and pulled up a home rental website, typing the home address into the search bar. "There's the door," she commented as the page loaded with an image.

"Oh, there's the blue gate!" Norman announced gleefully. Shane nodded.

"Cool," Rita breathed.

Shane hit a few more keys. "Last known occupant: Charles, Charlie Riggs!" she and Rita announced simultaneously.

"So I suppose we can't write 'Good Luck' on the back of the card," Shane asked.

Rita shook her head.

"We readdress it and repackage it with a form explaining why the letter was opened in the first place," Oliver explained.

"What, you're going to _mail_ it?" Shane demanded.

Oliver took the repackaged, readdressed letter from Rita. "We have pushed the limits of protocol enough already," he replied, thinking of their exceptionally long "lunch".

"No, no, no, no, no, but they only have _three_ days!" Shane reminded him.

"Are you questioning the efficiency of this facility?" Oliver demanded incredulously.

 _Are you_ _ **kidding**_ _me, O'Toole?_ She thought. _Remember how we got the letter in the first place…because this facility lost the letter for almost a_ _ **year**_ _before it was placed in the system, and then misplaced for a month before it reached the Dead Letter Office?_ Aloud, she simply said, "Well, if the envelope fits!"

Oliver chuckled sarcastically.

"OK, what if, by some incomprehensible twist of fate, it takes the US Post Office more than three days to deliver a simple letter?" she asked. "And in the meantime, Kelly shows up. And she waits…and waits…and she waits. And he never comes." Her gut clenched and her heart contracted at the memory of what that was like. She had been there and knew the pain and would not wish it on anybody.

"And so she's standing there on the bridge," she continued through the lump in her throat. "Alone. Wondering _how_ he could just leave her there after she said she loves him so much." She concluded her speech standing in front of Oliver, willing him to look into her eyes and see her memories and her pain there and decide he could not put Kelly through that.

"I admire your passion, Ms. McInerney," he admitted. "But our job is simply to revive a dead letter and send it along. And yes, there are times when we wonder what will become of those who receive them, but we are the United States Post Office. We cannot play God."

"You said you don't believe in coincidences," she recalled. He sighed.

"What if you had pulled a green envelope out of there, instead of that pink one? Then Charlie and Kelly would never have had a chance, and now they do." Turning back to Oliver, she pleaded, "You're impeccable at your job, Oliver. But what about your job as a fellow human being whose been given the opportunity to change someone's life?"

"We may never know the whole truth about a letter," he sighed again, "or what happens to it once it leaves us, Ms. McInerney, but I believe, absolutely, that what we do here does make a difference. It is our responsibility to glean the truth from a lost letter and tomorrow – because we have done our work well – that truth will be delivered to Mr. Riggs a year late or, hopefully, right on time. But it's not up to us anymore."

He turned, closing his eyes against her pleas, and sent the letter up the chute to the Terminal Annex for delivery the next day.

Shane sat at the workbench, so lost in her memories that she did not notice Rita's approach until she felt the younger woman wrap her arms around her and lay her brunette head on top of Shane's blonde one in comfort.

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5:10 PM

"Are you coming, Ms. McInerney?" Oliver asked. Norman and Rita had just left, heading to the Mailbox Grille. Shane, however, had stayed seated at the workbench and Oliver, worried for her, had remained behind. He knew he had hurt her when he had mailed that letter, but that had not been his intention. He had simply wanted her to know how to do her job. _His_ job was to train her, after all.

"No, thank you, Oliver," she replied sadly. "You go on ahead. Have a good night."

"I don't feel comfortable leaving you alone," he responded truthfully. _I know she's still hurting, Lord, and I wish I knew why so I can figure out how to help her._

"It's OK," she sighed. "I'm…"

"Used to it," he supplied. "I know. But you shouldn't have to be. If you don't want to go for a drink first, then we'll call Rita and have her and Norman meet us for dinner somewhere, or we can go pick them up."

"I don't really feel like going out," she told him. "But, if you really don't want me to be alone, then we can go back to my hotel room…"

"Uh, I am, um…ma…not that, um," he tried to find the words to politely decline but kept tripping over his tongue. His face and neck grew, and he was sure he was bright red.

Shane noticed and she wondered why he was blushing until she thought about her words and how it must have sounded to him.

"Oh, no, no!" she exclaimed, her own face turning as pink as her shirt. "No. I _meant_ ," she clarified, looking up at the ceiling to regain some composure.

"I meant that we pick up Norman and Rita, go back to my hotel room and order dinner to be sent up from the hotel restaurant, maybe watch a movie– all _four_ of us – in my _living_ room, then you take them home after dinner, and I go to bed. Alone. Without…oh, never mind." She gave up trying to make this sound appropriate and hurriedly grabbed her things. "Good night, Oliver," she breathed, rushing past him.

"Ms. McInerney," he called just before she blew through the batwing doors.

She froze but did not turn around, afraid to look him in the eye. "I think that sounds like a fine plan," he acknowledged, gathering his hat and satchel and holding the door open for her. "Shall we go collect our colleagues?"

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 **A/N: There it is! I had so much fun writing this chapter, for many different reasons! Please let me know what you thought of it! Thanks! -Desiree**


	8. I Quit!

**A/N: I still don't own anything but my imagination, but it's better than nothing, I suppose. ;) This is now Wednesday, when we see Shane self-terminate for the first time. Thank you for the HUGE outpouring of feedback from the last chapter; it made me so happy to know that you all enjoyed reading that chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it!**

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Wednesday, June 24, 2014

5:30 AM

Oliver awoke early the next morning, refreshed and ready to begin his day. His mind went over the previous evening and he blushed, recalling the misunderstanding when he had thought Shane had propositioned him. He had been enormously relieved when she had clarified that she wanted all _four_ of them to go back to her hotel room for dinner and a movie.

Still, under normal circumstances he would have refused simply to avoid the appearance of any wrongdoing. The only reason he had accepted her suggestion, in fact, had been due to his worry over her. He was afraid that, given how blindly she had been heading towards the door following their misunderstanding, she would not have paid attention to her surroundings and something terrible would have happened to her on her way back to her hotel. He would never have forgiven himself if something had happened to her on her way back to her hotel room when he might have prevented it.

It had been painfully clear, too, that she had still not gotten over whatever it was she was wrestling with that had made her so melancholy that night. _Lord, if she has not confided in me by tonight regarding whatever it is that troubles her, I will ask her. She must know that I am here for her any time she wants to talk, no judgment._

They had collected Norman and Rita and gone back to the Brown Palace. Her room was on the fourth floor, so they had taken the elevator up. Once inside the room he, Norman and Rita had been floored. He had believed that she had been staying in a hotel room: bed, table, chair, bathroom, _maybe_ a sofa.

No, her room was a _suite_ , complete with an enclosed bedroom, a dining room, and a separate living room. And it had clicked with Oliver: she would not have invited them to her room had it been a traditional hotel room. However, this was more of an apartment and therefore like a home where there was space to entertain a few guests, and her private quarters would be kept – well – private.

She had called down to the hotel restaurant, the Ship Tavern, and ordered room service. Rita had found some board games and requested that they play Scrabble, so Shane had ordered at least one of every appetizer on the menu but had added a second Salmon flatbread, a second Oysters Sophia, and two quesadillas: one chicken and one prime rib. She had said that when she was a little girl, her family had game nights once a week and only small bites were served for dinner those nights, to allow ease of playing.

She had pulled a bottle of wine from a shopping bag on a sideboard, along with a wine key, and requested Oliver open it while she put on some music. When the food arrived, they had assembled at the table, filled their plates, and set up the game.

Oliver had won three games in a row, the last one by placing his last six letters, "Z-O-O-G-E-O" in front of the word Shane had just completed, "graphical". The "Z" had ended up on the Triple Word Score, as well, resulting in a score of 105 for the word and giving him a personal record total score of 756.

"Logophile O'Toole wins again," Shane had teased gently, her mood obviously improved. She stifled a yawn then, but Oliver noticed it anyway.

"Norman, Rita," he had stated, "It's late and we should go." He unrolled his sleeves, refastened the cufflinks, and pulled his jacket off the back of the chair he had occupied. "But thank you, Ms. McInerney, for a lovely evening."

Oliver shook himself out of his reveries, got out of bed, and began his morning ablutions. Today things went back to normal finally, since the Charlie/Kelly letter was on its way to its recipient.

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7:30 AM

When he walked into the office two hours later, he half expected to see her there, making coffee, just as she had been yesterday morning. She wasn't, however, and Oliver tried to ignore the feeling of disappointment that washed over him.

Rita entered a few moments later, however, followed by Norman and Oliver was glad of the distraction. There was something he wanted to discuss with his longtime colleagues.

"Rita, Norman," he requested, situating himself between the two.

"Yes, Oliver?" Rita placed her purse on the coat rack and turned to him.

"I want you to do me a favor if you wouldn't mind. I want you to befriend Ms. McInerney."

"Oh, I had already planned on doing that anyway," the brunette stated brightly.

"You did?" Oliver chuckled. He should have known…Rita had never met a stranger.

"Yeah. She seems sad, and everyone could use a friend sometimes, right?"

Oliver smiled. "Yes, Rita. I believe they can. And I agree; there is a melancholia surrounding her the source of which I have been attempting to ascertain – unsuccessfully, I might add."

"Oh," Norman interjected. "Have you been praying for her? Because I've seen you do that sometimes when…when you have a problem you can't figure out, Oliver."

"Very insightful, Norman," Oliver responded. "Yes, I have been praying for her every day since we met her. I want her to feel welcome here."

"She _is_ welcome here," Norman and Rita replied simultaneously. Rita blushed, glancing sideways at Norman.

"Yes," Oliver agreed. "She is. But her mind is so focused on leaving that she has failed to see that this place can offer her something that no other office in the United States Post Office can: a family. We rely on one another more thoroughly than any other department, and that knits us together more closely."

"OK, Oliver," they nodded just as Shane walked in.

"Good morning, Ms. McInerney," Oliver greeted her.

"Good morning Oliver, morning Rita, morning Norman," Shane replied.

"Morning," Norman and Rita answered, turning towards their respective workstations.

"Ms. McInerney," Oliver began, "I am going to pair you up with Rita today, so that you can see how we handle the incoming mail and get it sorted."

"O-ok," Shane replied hesitantly.

"Excellent. Well, I shall be back momentarily, I just have to check something on the sorting floor."

 _He is up to something,_ Shane thought. _In the last couple of days, he has not once just left the room, unless it's for a meeting or to ask about something on the floor._

Rita showed Shane the different boxes they used for sorting and explained where each piece of mail went. They worked steadily for about thirty minutes, Norman helping them, until the squeak of the batwing door sounded and Andrea came storming in carrying an oversized mail duffel.

"Norman?!" she demanded. "Where's Oliver?"

Norman, having dropped the letters he had been holding when Andrea burst into the room, scrambled towards her. "On the floor," he replied hurriedly.

"I was just on the floor," Andrea shook her head. "He's not there."

 _This woman is a real piece of work,_ Shane muttered internally. _Who does she think she is, barking at poor Norman like that? Anyone can see the man is terrified of her._

"On the floor somewhere else, maybe?" Norman offered.

Andrea scoffed, then shoved the duffel she was holding into Norman's arms. "Get those processed before the decade's out, will ya?" she ordered, then turned her attention to Shane. "Hey, Fancy Pants! That transfer you put in for? It's gonna take ten weeks!" In reality, she had _told_ HR not to transfer Shane for ten weeks, just to irritate the blonde techie.

"Ten weeks?" Shane whispered. _No, no, no, no, no! This cannot be happening! I can't be stuck in this department for ten weeks; I will go mad! Six weeks was bad enough._

Andrea gave a miniscule incline to her head, then stalked out of the office.

"Oh, I can't believe this," Shane groaned, slamming the letters into a box and rubbing her forehead in irritation. _Will this nightmare never end?_

Rita approached her hesitantly. "Hey, you remember that surprise that I told you about?" she queried, tapping Shane on the shoulder.

Shane chuckled. "The last twenty-four hours have been nothing but surprises," she replied sarcastically. "But please, go on."

"Well, I knew that I had seen your name somewhere," Rita explained excitedly. "And it was on a letter. A _dead_ letter, that was entered into the system fourteen months ago on April 28th, which is two days before your birthday."

"How did you know that?" Shane asked incredulously.

"Because I read your file, remember?" Rita reminded her. "So it's gotta be a birthday card!"

 _She actually_ _ **does**_ _remember everything she glances at,_ Shane thought. _Amazing!_ "Where is it?" she asked.

"Well, I mailed it to you," Rita explained. _Isn't that what I'm supposed to do?_

Shane stared at her dumbfoundedly. "You mailed it? You- I _work_ here; you could have just _handed_ it to me!"

Oliver, who had returned to the DLO during the ladies' conversation, approached. "Standard procedure, Ms. McInerney," he reiterated. _How do I get this through her head, that rules are put into place for a reason? Why is she such a rule-breaker? I_ _ **will**_ _get to the bottom of that little puzzle._

"Procedure," she scoffed. "Right! It was _my_ birthday card from- Who was it from?" _Please, not my dad. Please do not say his name. I can't handle that._

"Return address obscured," Rita answered.

Shane sighed mentally in relief, then thought of something. "So then where did you mail it?" she inquired.

"To here, care of 'Dead Letters'!" Rita announced proudly.

 _What? It was already here and she_ _ **mailed**_ _it here?_ "You people are crazy!" she breathed, walking toward her things.

"A popular theory," Oliver acknowledged, thinking of Andrea. "Coffee?"

Shane glared at him. "The coffee is swill, and I'm wasting my time!"

Oliver was taken aback by her words. "The coffee, I grant you, needs improvement, but I take exception to the idea that your time here is wasted!" _Nothing is a waste of time if it adds to the person you will become,_ he quoted mentally from a Hallmark movie he had seen years before.

"My time, my career, my life!" Shane spat out.

 _She can't mean that, Lord. Please, help her to see the good that can be done here._ "I understand you're upset," he reasoned.

"Upset," she turned to him. "See if you understand this: I quit!" She turned to the door and stalked out.

 _No!_ Oliver pleaded mentally. _Lord, we had been doing so well with her! She needs to come back, Lord._ Suddenly, in desperation, he cried, "Shane! Come back, Shane!"

She didn't.

"Oh dear," Oliver mumbled, at a loss as to what to do next. He looked at Norman and Rita, who were watching him expectantly. "Uh, well, there it is." _Go after her, Oliver!_ He chastised himself. _You want to help her? You need her to come back!_ "Um, I believe I have accrued a bit of vacation time," he mentioned.

"Fourteen weeks, six days," Rita recited. Norman nodded.

"I may take a few minutes of those right now." He started toward the door, stopped, placed the coffee pot and his grandfather's cup on the counter and left the office.

"Oh, that is so sweet!" Rita exclaimed softly.

"What is?" Norman asked, confused.

"He's going after her!" _He cares for her_ , Rita realized in a sudden moment of clarity. _He cares for her as more than a colleague, possibly as something more than a friend. I hope she does come back and stays; he obviously needs her just as much as she needs him. Plus, it would be nice to have another girl around to talk to!_

"Going after her what?" Norman was still confused.

"Norman, I have to go do something. I'll be back in a little bit," she told him. Oliver would succeed in bringing Shane back; Rita was sure of it. And Rita wanted Shane to know that she didn't always have to follow protocol; that sometimes, friendship comes first. So she was going to find that birthday card before it went out on a truck and have it back here when Shane returned.

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 _Lord, help me find her,_ Oliver prayed as he left the DLO. _I believe I may know where she has gone; I just pray I am correct and that I get there in time. Give me direction and show me the way. I don't want to lose her this way; upset over a birthday card…wait, why did that upset her? She knows protocol; she knows this is how USPS does things, so why get so upset? Please, Lord, provide me the answers in time to help her._

Oliver stopped praying for a moment and listened inside himself even as he continued walking the halls of the post office. Within a minute, he heard that Still, Small Voice inside him, giving him the answers he sought. _She's not upset with you, Oliver,_ the Voice stated. _Nor is she even upset about Rita mailing that birthday card. There is something in her life she is struggling with; something that you will help her with, when the time is right. Unfortunately, the letter you all have been working on has brought memories back to her that are part of that struggle. You know where to find her; now go to her. Bring her back._

Relief flooded over him. He knew where to go. _Thank you, Lord, for Your faithful, guiding hand._

Oliver knew she would not go straight to Charlie's house. It probably wouldn't even occur to her to do so until she had cooled down a bit and thought it through. And where would she go to think? The park. That was a fifteen-minute walk from the office. But how long until she decided to head over to the house with the blue gate after she got to the house was another thing entirely. Oliver figured she would wander for ten minutes and find herself in front of the house.

 _Perfect! I have twenty-five minutes, and I know just what I am going to do with that time. Thank you, Lord! You always show me the way._

Oliver got into his car and pointed it in the direction he wanted to go. Two minutes later, he was standing in line at the Denver Bean Coffee House. Thankfully, since the work day had already started, the coffee shop was a little slower than normal. There were only two people in line when he joined them, and within five minutes he was stepping up to the barista.

"An Aspen Americano and a Steamboat Skinny Vanilla Latte," he requested.

"Isn't it the other way around?" the barista asked, remembering the blonde lady that had been with this gentleman a few days prior.

"Not today," Oliver smirked. It took the barista a minute to make the drinks. Since he did not see the blonde lady anywhere, he assumed she was back at the office or something so made the Skinny Vanilla Latte slightly extra hot to allow for cooling.

"An Aspen Americano and a Steamboat Skinny Vanilla Latte," the barista announced, placing both cups on the hand-off plane. Oliver smiled, handed him a ten, thanked him and left.

He drove his car directly to Charlie's house, parked across the street, and shut off the engine, exiting the vehicle and shutting the door. He grabbed the cups out of the center console, leaned against the car, crossed one ankle over the other in expectation, and waited.

A few moments later, she was walking down the street, gazing at the house in earnest contemplation.

 _Thank you, Lord,_ he praised once again as he watched her. She was so wrapped up in watching the house she hadn't even seen him yet. Moments later, however, she must have sensed him because she turned around and chuckled when she saw him.

He lifted the coffee cups in greeting. _Coffee?_ he queried silently, eyebrows raised.

She chuckled. "Really?" she asked in disbelief.

"I gave you fifteen minutes to walk to the park, factored in another ten for aimless wandering, which gave me twenty-five minutes to order your Skinny Vanilla Latte and deliver it still hot by the time you showed up," he explained proudly, offering her the larger cup.

"I am that predictable, hm?" she sighed, accepting the cup and taking her place next to him.

"No," he disagreed. "I think you are that invested in your work, and an employee with that much commitment should not be allowed to self-terminate – or drink sub-standard swill, for that matter." He inclined his cup, and she touched her cup to his. _Don't ever do that to me again!_

"Thank you," she said. _Why do you always take the kinder, more honorable higher ground, Oliver? Don't you get tired of being so…noble…all the time?_

"My pleasure," he replied. "Well, it shouldn't be long now. Mailman's just around the corner."

"Just think," she sighed dreamily. "In five minutes he could be opening up the letter and finding out that he has a date on Friday with the Love of his life."

"Perhaps he has since met a waitress from Olive Garden, and is expecting twins, and has taken up work as a grouter of bathroom tiles," he posited.

"No way," she shook her head. "Not a chance. Not our Charlie."

"Oh," Oliver chuckled. _**Our**_ _Charlie? That's a good sign, Lord, if she's still so invested in her work she calls him_ _ **ours**_ _. Perhaps we haven't lost her, after all._

"Mmm," she removed the cup from her lips as the mailman walked up to the house. "There it is." _This is it…he will read the letter, meet Kelly on Friday, and they will have their happy ending. No waiting and wondering for them. No 'what if' scenarios repeating themselves in their brains until they go mad wondering if they could have done anything differently to produce a better outcome._

"And once again, civilization prevails," Oliver concluded, turning to open the car door. _Hopefully this has shown her that our jobs do have meaning, and purpose, and that we do make a difference in people's lives, and that we don't always have to_ _ **see**_ _the happy ending to trust that it exists._

"Wait," she placed a hand on his chest, his heart skipping a beat as he turned. "Don't you want to see him open it?" she asked.

 _Actually, I do,_ he thought.

They watched as a neighbor accepted her mail from the postman, then walk over to Charlie's mailbox, retrieve the letter, and turn back to her house. And Oliver watched in horror as Shane shoved her coffee into his hands, ran across the street, and confronted the woman.

 _What is she doing?_ Oliver asked himself. _She's intercepting the letter at the point of delivery? She's technically not even a Postal Worker anymore since she self-terminated!_

"What are you doing with that letter?" he demanded when she had returned to the car, _with_ the letter. "You can't just-"

She held the envelope out to him, eyes pleading. "Read it," she requested. _This is not good. Now what?_

There, on the front of the envelope, in bold black print, the neighbor had written:

"IN JAIL

"Not at this address"

"Before we do anything about this letter," he stated. "I need to know if you were serious when you self-terminated." _Please say you weren't._ "The choice is yours: if you would like, you can walk away and you never need see me or my department ever again. I'll accept your resignation, if that's your honest choice. I need to know, though. Were. You. Serious?"

She thought about it a moment. Part of her – the practical part – wanted to say yes. He was telling her the truth…he would let her go and she would never have to see him again. The problem was, she wasn't sure she _wanted_ him to let her go or to never see him again. At the moment, he was the best friend that she had in Denver.

"Ms. McInerney, I need to know if you are staying?" he pleaded.

"No, Oliver," she said quietly. His heart sank, until she spoke the next words. "I wasn't serious when I resigned; I was upset, and hurt, and I took it out on you. I'm sorry."

 _Thank you, Lord. I promise that I will do all in my power to show her that she is not alone. She has friends now and we care about her._

"Apology accepted," he said aloud, gazing at her in intensity. "Get in the car," he grinned. Once they had buckled their belts, he turned to her. "Now I don't have to report you for Illegal Removal of a Piece of Mail by an Unauthorized Person," he added, starting the car.

Her jaw dropped, forming a perfect "O" with her mouth. "You wouldn't have!" she breathed. Then, seeing the severity of her actions in his eyes, added, "You would really have had me arrested for stealing mail?"

"No," he admitted. "But I'm glad you know that I could have done." _We cannot just fly by the seat of our pants, Shane. There is an order, a method to the way things are done in the DLO._

"You could always discipline me for 'Unauthorized Interception of Mail at the Point of Delivery'," she joked.

"Ms. McInerney," he sighed. "I just spent an _hour_ praying I would succeed in locating you and convincing you _not_ to self-terminate; why on _earth_ would I be looking for reasons to terminate you myself?"

Oliver pulled into his slot in the Post Office parking lot a few minutes later. _This parking lot needs to be restriped again,_ he thought idly as he and Shane exited the vehicle and headed into the building and back to the DLO.

Norman met them in the hallway outside the DLO. "Rita ran off somewhere and hasn't come back yet," Norman told them.

"I'm sure she will return shortly, Norman," Oliver assured his friend. "Right now, we need to focus on Kelly and Charlie."

"What?" Norman asked. "Why?"

"Because Charlie is in jail," Shane replied. _I still don't believe it._ _ **Not**_ _our Charlie._

Norman pushed open the doors to the DLO. "What do you mean, he's in jail?" _What did he do? Did he kill someone?_

Shane sighed. "I mean, his neighbor wrote, 'Not at this address; In Jail' on the envelope," she explained.

"You intercepted the letter at the point of delivery?" Norman asked incredulously. _Why didn't Oliver stop her? Had she already done it when he found her? It's not like Oliver to break protocol._

"Yep," Shane responded.

"Although 25 minutes earlier she had tendered her resignation," Oliver added. "So technically she had yet to be reinstated as a government servant."

"It's just sheer luck that I was there to intercept it," she spat out. She hadn't planned to go to Charlie's house, after all.

"Luck is the Religion of the Lazy," Oliver told her.

 _What is that supposed to mean?!_ She demanded silently. _Honestly, he talks as if he expects us to be…better…than mere humans!_

Rita ran through the batwing doors clutching an envelope of her own. "Guess what? I found it!" she announced proudly. "I stopped it just in time. Your card." She handed it to Shane, who immediately placed it on the workbench as she typed on her computer.

Norman picked it up. "It's from your dad, right?" he asked. "The handwriting is male, late 40s, early 50s." Shane took the card from his hands and placed it back on the workbench. "Aren't you going to open it?" he asked.

"Maybe later," she sighed. "I have to find Charlie Riggs first."

"Charlie?" Rita asked, confused. "Kelly's Charlie?" _Why are we back on that? I thought we mailed the letter? He should have already received it._

"Yeah," Norman responded. "Charlie In-Jail-for-Something Charlie; I knew there was something fishy about that guy."

"Sshhh," Shane said. "I'm Googling."

 _He's in jail?! He can't be! What happened?_ "But Charlie Riggs is such a nice name!" Rita protested.

"Oh, my God!" Shane exclaimed. _No, no, no, no, no! It isn't true! Please, tell me this is not right! Poor Kelly!_

"What?" Oliver demanded.

"Do you remember the baker, Roger Piperson, who won the lottery?" she asked.

"He's the luckiest man in the world," Norman pointed out.

"Roger Piperson was murdered by a man named Charlie Riggs." She gazed up at Oliver briefly before returning to computer. "It's impossible," she shook her head in disbelief.

"Wait!" Rita cried. "I remember! I read an article about the baker in Park Hills. He was going to give away _all_ his lottery money to an orphanage in Loretta Heights where he grew up. They say he was a real self-made man; he used to give cookies to the kids every day after school! Then Charlie-"

" _Not_ Charlie," Shane pointed out emphatically.

"Right," Rita agreed. " _Someone_ , somebody went into the bakery, shot the baker, and…" _Oh, I wish I had finished reading that article! Even if I had glanced at it! But no…I had to crumple the paper and throw it away!_

"And what?" Shane prompted.

"I stopped reading," Rita shrugged. "It was just too sad."

"Well, I don't believe it," Shane announced. "It's _not_ our Charlie!"

"It's not _our_ Charlie," Oliver reminded her. "And if it's true, then perhaps Kelly made the right decision when she decided to walk away." _Lord, I admire the investment she has placed in this, truly I do, but she is acting as if this affects her personally somehow. Is the source of her melancholia tied up in the reason behind her investment in the lives of these two strangers?_

Tears sprang to Shane's eyes. "I can't believe you just said that," she whispered mournfully. _He doesn't get it, Shane!_ she told herself angrily. _He doesn't know what it's like, waiting faithfully for someone who just is never going to come. He has never had to deal with a parent walking out on him and wanting nothing to do with him, nor has he ever had to deal with a romantic partner being more absorbed in their desires and dreams than in his. He_ _ **has**_ _a wife, remember? One who is likely at his house now, waiting to serve him his YooHoo, and who wonders why he takes his employees out for dinner and drinks every night instead of coming home and dining with her._

"I know you want these two to be happy-" Oliver acknowledged.

"Here it is!" Shane interrupted, pulling up the news feed online. They watched as the story covered the arrest, as well as the evidence that initially led to that arrest.

"Oh no," Rita moaned. "It _is_ our Charlie!"

"Oh, he's not bad looking," Norman commented.

"' _Riggs was taken into custody and charged with second-degree murder during the commission of an armed robbery'_ ," Shane read. " _'He has pleaded "Not Guilty" and remains incarcerated without bail and is awaiting trial.'_ "

"Well," Oliver stated. "There it is." _I'm sorry, Ms. McInerney. I know you had wanted a better outcome than that._

Shane shut her laptop and the four colleagues looked at each other uneasily.

"Kelly didn't mention anything in her letter about him being clumsy," Norman mentioned.

"Or homicidal," Oliver added.

Realization dawned on Shane's face. "Wait," she interjected. "What day was that?" She opened her laptop back up.

"Last year," Rita sighed. "I think this month…oh wow!" She and Shane shared a Look.

"Oliver!" Shane cried excitedly. "It happened a year ago, on the 26th!" _Yes! I_ _ **knew**_ _it couldn't have been him!_

Oliver looked thoughtful. "I need a YooHoo," he announced, heading to his refrigerator.

"What just happened?" Norman inquired.

"Norman, don't you get it?" Shane demanded. "Charlie was with Kelly that day – all day. And, he dropped his wallet, so whoever picked it up probably shot the baker."

"He's a lot taller than I thought he would be," Rita stated.

"I was in jail once," Norman mentioned. "I was visiting a cousin who was doing ten days in Quartzville, Arizona for tipping cows-"

"Norman," Shane grabbed his shoulders in desperation. "Please stop talking, and I mean that from the very bottom of my heart, OK?"

Oliver came up behind Shane, reading her screen over her shoulder. " _'Riggs faces life in lottery winner shooting.'_ "

"Oh, my gosh…he goes to trial next week!" Rita realized.

"What are we gonna do?" Shane wondered.

"We are going to readdress the letter to Charlie, care of the county jail," Oliver informed her.

"That's it?" Shane demanded. "He needs our help!"

"Well clearly he needs _someone's_ help," Oliver pointed out. "Like his lawyer, for example." Shane began typing again. "But the United States Postal System is not in the habit of defending murderers."

"He's not a murderer!" Rita exclaimed.

"Right, and we _know_ that," Shane intoned. "So we need to do something!"

"The truth is, we don't know anything beyond what's in the letter!" Oliver reminded her.

Shane stopped typing. "Voila!" she flourished.

"What is this?" he inquired, staring at the screen. _A dating website, Ms. McInerney? Are you really trolling for a date online with a man who types,_ _ **"Feeling Puckish…body pic on request."**_ _as the title of his personal ad? How disappointing…and disturbing._

"This is Jerry Polevich," Shane announced. "Charlie's Public Defender, and he happens to be on a dating website."

 _She's_ _ **not**_ _looking for a date!_ Oliver thought with relief. _She's only trying to find Charlie's lawyer so we can get him the proof that Charlie is innocent!_ He motioned to Norman, who nodded and pulled down one of his phone books to look the lawyer up.

"' _Jerry Polevich, Age: 47. Education: Degree in law from the North Denver Valley College. Religion: None. Language: What's wrong with English?'_ " she glanced at Rita. " _'Status: Divorced.'_ No big surprise there, is there? _'Likes: GOLF, Cooking, GOLF, Eating, GOLF, Barbecuing, GOLF, and Anything from the Mile High Deli. Life's Ambition: To quit the law and buy the Bunker Shot Grille at the Pine Cobble Country Club.'_ "

"That's enough 'Googling', Ms. McInerney," Oliver called from his desk, the handset to his phone already at his ear. "I'm calling the reception to set up a meeting so I can sit down face-to-" he stopped. Shane and Rita leaned back against the workbench, listening to Oliver's end of his phone call.

"Jerry Polevich? Jerry Polevich, Esquire? Uh, I will keep that in mind, sir, but I am not calling to solicit your services. I'm calling from the Main Post Office downtown…The United States Post Office does not _lose_ things! Well, I'm calling with information about the man who killed…"

"Allegedly," Shane reminded him. _He didn't do it, remember, Oliver?_

"Allegedly killed Roger Piperson. Charles Riggs. You are his public defender, are you not? The baker! Who was unfortunately dispatched last year?"

Shane pinched the bridge of her nose. She felt a migraine coming on.

"Well, I have proof – a letter – detailing Charles Riggs' activity the day the baker was dispatched, which proves his innocence, incontroverti…No." He looked at the handset in bewilderment before placing it gently back on its cradle. He turned to his colleagues. "A letter is not enough," he remarked soberly. "He needs a visual aid, such as a photograph or a video; something that proves time and place. Apparently, 'anybody can write a letter'."

"Why don't we finish processing the incomings, then head off early?" Oliver suggested after a moment. "We skipped lunch researching this whole murder investigation, and I don't really feel up to staying here until five."

Working together, the foursome had completely sorted the entire duffel Andrea had shoved at them earlier that day.

"Let's go to the Mailbox Grille for a drink," Shane suggested. "Then figure out what to do for dinner. It's my turn to pay, I think."

"You bought dinner last night," Rita reminded her.

"No, she didn't," Oliver stated. Shane stared at him incredulously. She had a feeling she knew where this was going.

"Yes, she charged it to her suite," Norman recalled.

Oliver nodded. "Do you two remember when I said I forgot something and went back into the hotel?" At their nods, he continued, "Well, I didn't say anything at the time, but I went to the front desk and paid the balance on her account, which was the amount for our dinner last night plus a salad from Sunday night, I believe."

"You didn't!" Shane exclaimed. "Oliver, why?"

"Because the three of you are my responsibility," he replied, exasperated. "I don't want any of you to be in difficulties because we are dining out every night."

"Thank you," Norman and Rita answered at the same time Shane stated nonchalantly, "I wouldn't be."

"Don't play games, Ms. McInerney," Oliver leveled. "You're forgetting that I know your government pay grade. Plus, you are purchasing a home, so money must be tight to budget for a hotel room plus food, _plus a_ mortgage. If I can do anything to ease some of that burden, I will. The food seems like the logical place to do so."

"I'd appreciate that," she allowed. He in inclined his head. "If I had a mortgage to worry about, which I don't."

"But you told me Monday night while we were walking that you had purchased a home on Saturday."

"I paid cash for my house, Oliver," she replied steadily.

His eyebrow raised even as his jaw mentally dropped. _Where would she have the money to purchase a home in cash?_

"No loan, no mortgage, no budgeting," she added. "Just a home owned outright, with the money I saved on closing costs applied to my account at the hotel. And plenty left over in my bank account to be able to live off the interest accrued alone."

At this point, all three were staring at her with dumbfounded expressions. "Let me share some of the responsibility," she requested. "Norman and Rita might need to budget for their time out, I get that. But I don't, so either you and I alternate paying, or I stop spending time with any of you outside of work."

"No!" Rita exclaimed, upset. "I don't want to stop spending time with you!"

She looked at him expectantly as if to tell him that the ball was in his court.

"You're rich," Oliver stated flatly. _There's no other alternative. But then, why is she working? Why not just retire?_

"No," Shane insisted. "I am not rich. But I am more than comfortable enough. I wasn't ever able to purchase a home in DC – Washington's real estate market is just too expensive – but Denver has proven to be something else entirely."

"How'd you come into all that?" Norman asked.

"Norman," Oliver said quietly. "We must respect Ms. McInerney's privacy; it is none of our business where her money comes from." He gazed at her, an unspoken agreement forged between them.

"Let's go!" Shane hopped up, packing up her laptop and other devices into her purse.

Five minutes later, they were entering the Mailbox Grille. Shane motioned to the bartender, who nodded in acknowledgement, for a round. She ushered Oliver to a table, Norman and Rita following behind. Norman, especially hungry after having skipped lunch that day, began shelling the peanuts in the bowl and snacking on them.

Within minutes, the bartender brought out their usual drinks. Oliver absentmindedly took a sip of his gin before placing the glass on the table.

"Do you still want to do nothing, Oliver?" Shane asked. "Do you want to leave it up to the crack legal mind of a man who buys his meat through the mail?"

"No, of course not!" Oliver protested. "But we have no alternative!"

"Wrong!" Shane proclaimed. In a softer tone, she reminded him, "The other day, you said that we are responsible for what little truth that we have. Well, the truth is: Charlie Riggs is innocent, and we can prove it!"

"Possibly," Oliver corrected.

"Possibly, _probably_!" Shane countered. "Now we have a moral obligation to at least try!"

"What are you proposing?"

"We know Polevich won't do anything with the letter, right?" she broached. "But if we deliver the letter to Charlie in person, maybe he can tell us something that we can do to help him. Charlie _needs_ this letter. He needs to keep that date with Kelly. He needs a friend. I know it's risky," she continued. "But sometimes you just have to take the leap."

"It's a compelling proposition…" Oliver hedged.

"Look, with my computer skills, Rita's memory, your _genius_ as a Postal Detective, and Norman's expertise at…so many things," she grinned. "Think of us as a covert division of Postal Intelligence."

"Like, like secret agents!" Norman exclaimed excitedly. Shane inclined her head in agreement. "I once applied to the CIA."

"Me, too!" Rita announced. "I didn't get in."

"There's also the problem with Andrea; of course, she'll want to know what we're up to." Oliver pointed out.

"Well, we simply tell her that we are fact-gathering to ensure the delivery of letters that require _special handling_."

"Confiscate my refrigerator," Oliver muttered, recalling the coffee machine fiasco from the previous Friday.

"We would be flying under the radar," Shane informed him.

"Postal Intelligence?" he asked in clarification, turning to her. She nodded.

"Well, I suppose we are…that…already," he allowed grudgingly.

"Except now, we would have…" Shane trailed off, looking for the right word or phrase. "Well, we would have a license to…"

"To deliver!" Norman supplied.

Shane smiled her approval. "A License to Deliver!" she announced, inclining her drink for a toast. First Norman, then Rita, and finally – hesitantly – Oliver, touched their glasses to hers.

"Ohh," Oliver sighed in trepidation, taking a healthy swallow of his gin. _Into what mess have I allowed this woman to talk me this time?_ He inquired within. _This is_ _ **highly**_ _irregular. Can I not tell her "no"?_

His musings were cut short by Rita's voice. "But how are you going to see Charlie?"

 _That's a good question,_ Oliver agreed. _How_ _ **are**_ _we going to get in to see Charlie? We aren't relatives, and we aren't friends._

"We – Oliver and I – will go there tomorrow and say that we are there for…" Shane mused, grasping at something plausible. "For…an attorney/client consult!"

"What?" Oliver nearly spat out his drink. "How do you propose we do that? Surely there is some kind of a list that shows which prisoners are expecting their attorneys on any given day."

"You get me the name of the list," Shane bargained with him, "and I will put your name on it." She tapped the bag that contained her computer.

" _You_ can do that?" he scoffed, unconvinced, until he saw her unflinching gaze as she smirked and nodded once, definitively. His eyes went wide at that admission. He had known she was good with a computer but had never for one moment entertained the idea that she might use her knowledge for something so…shady.

"What else do you use that thing for?" he demanded quietly so that Norman and Rita had to struggle to hear.

"You probably don't need or want to know the answer to that question right now," she replied honestly. "Would you like to reconsider what you said this afternoon about looking for a reason to terminate me yourself?"

"No," he replied. "I would not. Just promise me that you will only engage in such activities when strictly necessary, and that you do not tell me when you do, so I don't have to lie in court to protect you."

Shane had no doubt that he would, too. In the three days she had known him, he had proven himself to be nothing if not honorable, loyal, and fiercely protective of those he felt were in his care. For whatever reason, it was increasingly clear to Shane that he now counted her to be among that number. Whatever the cost to himself, he would now do whatever it took to ensure her safety and well-being.

"Deal," she agreed. "Should we find a place to go eat?"

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After dinner, Shane was pensive. The talk had turned to the letter and she had, once again, withdrawn internally.

 _It's time, Lord,_ Oliver prayed. _I need to ask her. Whatever is burdening her is causing her to distance herself from us. We can't have that if we are to be an effective team. I know she is still awaiting that infernal transfer, but my prayer is that she chooses in the end to make her home at the DLO – with us. Please give me the words to say that will put a crack in the wall surrounding her heart, so that You may work on entering in and removing it entirely. If she does not know You personally as her Savior yet; I pray that she comes to in time as You are the ultimate Healer and Comforter. Work on her, Lord, I pray in Jesus' name. Amen._

"Ms. McInerney," Oliver began. "I have sensed for a few days that there is something troubling you." He could tell she was struggling internally with his confrontation. Eventually, however, she nodded silently, one tear slipping, unbidden, down her cheek before she swiped it away. Encouraged, he asked, "Is it about your dad?" Another nod. "Would you like to talk about it?"

"No," she whispered. "Not right now."

He nodded understandingly. "Is there anything I can do for you at all?"

"No, thank you."

"Ok," he conceded, sighing internally. _Lord, please work on her. Get her to let her troubles out so that she may heal._ "I just hope you know that I am here for you – without question and without judgment – any time that you do decide you want to talk about it. And I hope you know, too, that if you ever need anything, for any reason, I am always here for you." Teardrops welled up in the corners of her eyes.

"I know, Oliver, and thank you," she replied shakily.

"So am I," Rita offered.

"And me," Norman finished.

"I appreciate that," she sighed. _Maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if I were to stay in the Dead Letter Office,_ she thought. _A girl could do a_ _ **lot**_ _worse than changing lives with three such steadfast and devoted friends._

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 **A/N: Well, there it is! Please review and let me know what you thought of it! Up next: Thursday and the visit with Charlie, and Oliver and Shane's first dance! Only a few chapters left in this one!**


	9. The Dead Letter Office isDead?

**A/N: I still don't own anything, sadly, but huge thanks to Martha Williamson for creating these wonderful characters and stories and for sharing them with us. Thank you, also, to everyone who has reviewed, tweeted, posted, and/or PM'd me about this story; they are the reason I keep writing! Now on to the story…we are on Thursday, which includes the visit to Charlie, Oliver and Shane's first dance, Oliver's revelation about Holly, and the first half of Shane's revelation about her dad.**

Thursday, June 25, 2014

7:00 AM

Shane walked up to the restaurant called Lucile's just as Oliver was parking his car. "Good morning, Ms. McInerney," he greeted her as he climbed out.

"Good morning, Oliver," she laughed. "Why are we meeting here?" She glanced at the restaurant.

"Well," he explained, holding open the door for her. "I thought it would be a good idea to, um, strategize our plan for the day…you know, go over what to say or do once we get to the jail, that sort of thing."

"And to go over how Norman and Rita are going to be covering for our absence with Andrea," she supplied with a smile.

"Yes," he admitted, chuckling. "That, too,"

"Two for breakfast?" the waitress announced, coming up and grabbing two menus.

"Uh, there will be four of us," Oliver corrected. "The other two should be here shortly."

She grabbed two more menus and turned to her left. "Right this way," she instructed.

Once seated, Shane opened her menu. "What's good here?" she asked.

"Everything," Oliver responded honestly. "But they are very large portions, so keep that in mind when ordering. Oh, and I recommend we get an order of the beignets; they are unparalleled."

"Great," Shane replied brightly. "So much for keeping my trim figure."

" _I do not believe you have anything to worry about in that department, Ms. McInerney_ ," Oliver said to himself. He didn't realize he had said it aloud until he saw her surprised gaze. "I mean!" he exclaimed, "uh…just that, you look…you look like you, uh, keep yourself, uh, in….in, uh, shape," he finished lamely, his neck growing warm as he pulled at his shirt collar.

"It's OK, Oliver," was her amused response. "I do like to go running ordinarily, but with such long days at work this week, I have been limiting myself to 20 minutes in the hotel fitness center when I wake up."

"If…" he began, unsure how his offer would sound. "The meals here are rather large for me to finish, as well," he explained. "If you'd like, we could order one meal and request that they bring an extra plate so that we can split it."

Shane thought about it for a moment. This would be the second time in a week he had offered to share a meal with her. _What is going on here?_ she thought. _He wears a wedding band as if he's married, but he never mentions his wife, stays out late after work to socialize with his subordinates, takes them to breakfast before work, and splits entrees with them, as well. Were_ _ **I**_ _his wife and he was behaving this way, I would think…well, never mind, Shane. Oliver is_ _ **not**_ _that sort of man, so the only other explanation is that his wife is not with us anymore._

"I thank you, yes," she finally replied.

"What would you like?" he asked, glancing at the menu.

"I will let you decide," she grinned, "since I picked our pizza the other night at Gaetano's."

"That pizza was spectacular," he commented. "I'm glad we went there; I'd been wanting to for some time."

Shane agreed. "I can't think of a single disappointing meal I have had since I moved to Denver," she mused.

Oliver smirked, turning his attention back to the menu. "What about the Eggs Pontchartrain?" he inquired. "Trout, poached eggs, and a bearnaise sauce?"

"That sounds fantastic," Shane agreed. Spying Rita coming through the door, she grinned excitedly and waved the younger woman over. A few minutes later and Norman was joining them, too.

"Can I take your drink orders?" the waitress asked once Norman had seated himself.

"Coffee for me," Oliver requested. "And a glass of orange juice."

"Same," Shane replied automatically.

Norman and Rita both ordered just coffee, and soon the four were left alone. Norman, the only one who had not decided what he would have for breakfast, steadfastly studied the menu until the waitress approached a second time.

"Are we ready?" she inquired, glancing at Norman.

"Uh," Oliver stumbled slightly. "We," gesturing between himself and Shane, "will take the Eggs Pontchartrain with half grits and half potatoes, and an extra plate, please. Oh, and an order of the beignets and a platter of fruit for the table."

"Did you want to add another biscuit to that?" the waitress inquired.

Oliver glanced at Shane, who shook her head imperceptibly. "No, thank you," he replied brightly. "We'll share."

"I will take the Rice Pudding Porridge," Rita requested. "The small order."

"May I get the Eggs Sardou? But can I get the eggs scrambled instead of poached?" Norman requested.

"Potatoes or grits?" the waitress sighed.

"Oh, both," Norman replied, handing his menu to her.

Once she had left to put in their orders, Oliver became all business. "Norman, Rita," he stated. "I just wanted to go over our strategy for today. For instance, what will the two of you say to Andrea if – when," he corrected, remembering of whom he was speaking, "she comes to the DLO and inquires as to our whereabouts?"

"I had planned on telling her you had gone home sick," Rita announced. "From food poisoning, maybe?"

"That's pretty good," Shane commented approvingly. Rita flushed with pleasure at the praise.

"Please try and keep it as close to the truth as possible," Oliver requested. "I dislike being dishonest, but if we must, let's keep it to a minimum."

"Now," he turned his attention to Shane. "What is our story for being at the jail?"

"I already told you," she replied. "An attorney/client consult."

The waitress came back up to the table, bearing a tray of food. Beignets," she placed the plate of oversized, over-sugared fritters on the table, along with three jars of different homemade jams. "Fruit. Eggs Sardou with scrambled eggs and half grits/half potatoes. Rice Pudding Porridge. And the Eggs Pontchartrain with half grits/half potatoes. Oh, and one extra plate," that she handed to Shane.

"Thank you," the foursome replied before situating the food in front of them. Oliver took the plate from Shane's hands, neatly divided the trout in half, and placed half on her plate along with half the potatoes and half the grits. The biscuit he also split in half, buttered both halves, and placed one on her plate before handing the plate back to her.

She smiled her thanks, placed some fruit and one of the beignets on her plate, and dug in.

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11:00 AM

"Right," Oliver mentioned, pulling on his suit jacket. "Let's do final checks, uh…trench coat?"

"Check!" Shane announced, picking up his coat and laying it over her arm. _A trench coat, Oliver? Really? It's July!_

"Laptop?" he asked.

"Check," she replied, holding up her purse. _As if I would ever go anywhere without it!_

"Gas in the Jag?" he finished.

"Check!" Norman piped up from his watch point at the front batwing doors.

 _Wait, what?_ Shane thought in disbelief. "We're taking that?!" She asked.

"V-12 XJS," Norman clarified.

 _Why do I care what model number it is, Norman?_ "Nobody in the government drives a car like that except James Bond," Shane explained incredulously.

"I will take that as a compliment," Oliver replied, grabbing his coat from her and placing it over his own arm. _Lord, is everything an argument with her? It's just a car, after all._

"Oh, she's coming!" Norman whispered loudly, ducking behind the Overnight Delivery bin.

"Go. Go!" Shane told Oliver hurriedly, running towards the back batwing doors one step behind him. They pushed through the doors at the same time Andrea came storming through the front ones.

"Where's Oliver?!" she shouted, looking around. The only person she saw, however, was Rita, who was sitting at the center workbench.

"Good morning, Andrea," the petite brunette greeted tightly. _I_ _ **really**_ _don't like her._

A clatter came from the end of the office and Andrea turned in time to see the Overnight Delivery bin rumble towards her. A second later, Norman stood up, affecting a woozy, ill demeanor.

"Norman? What in the name of Paul Revere are you doing?" Andrea inquired.

"Sorting," he replied. "Shipping. The usual." _Helping my boss pull one over your blind eyes._

"Tell Oliver that I want him in the Department Meeting. Pronto!" she demanded, turning back to Rita.

"Oliver actually went home," Rita said slowly, searching for a reason why. "He got a hold of a bad piece of…fish…last night." Rita didn't like lying, so she used his breakfast as the excuse, making it last night's dinner instead.

"Then send that other one," Andrea countered.

"Well, that could be a problem," Rita stated. "Same dinner." The way Rita saw it, Andrea didn't need to know that they had met for breakfast before work, because that would just lead to her asking _why_ they were dining together.

"Same fish," Norman added, pointing at his stomach and making a face.

"I want one of them in that Department Meeting, and nobody goes home sick unless I send them home sick!" Andrea turned and shoved her way through the batwing doors.

"When she was Miss Special Delivery she sang, 'Climb Every Mountain' for her Talent section," Norman spouted.

"Life can take its toll on a woman without love, Norman," Rita explained.

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"Why did I let you talk me into this?" Oliver asked nervously as they neared the prison. "What if something goes wrong?"

"Oliver, _nothing_ will go wrong, I promise," Shane stated emphatically. _What's wrong, Oliver?_

"What if you can't find their list on that…machine…of yours?" he demanded. "Or, if you can, what if you can't put our names on it?" _I'm placing my trust in you, Ms. McInerney. My good name – and yours – is in your hands. Please don't disappoint me._

 _What is this newfound insecurity?_ Shane wondered. "Oliver, there is yet to be a web page or a file that I could not hack my way into," she assured him.

"Please don't give me any information that I may be forced to lie about in court," he pleaded with her. "If you say you can get us in, then I believe you."

"I can get us in," she grinned.

They pulled up to the guard shack at the prison gate. "Hi there," Oliver said shakily to the guard. "We have an Attorney/Client consultation with prisoner Charles Riggs."

"ID," the guard requested.

"Yes," Oliver replied, pulling his own out of his wallet and accepting Shane's from her before handing both over to the guard. "Here you are."

"I don't see your names on today's list," the guard announced momentarily.

"Oh!" Oliver exclaimed, feigning surprise. "Uh, what list is that?" _Lord, please let this work. Please do not let my faith in Ms. McInerney be misplaced._

"Client-Counsel Appointment Roster," the guard answered.

"Ah, the Client-Counsel Appointment Roster," Shane repeated slowly, pulling her computer out of her bag and opening it up. "I put our names on that yesterday."

"You would have had to have done that last Thursday," the guard pointed out warily.

"That's what I meant!" she chuckled. "I put our names on that on Thursday, _for_ today."

"Thursday," Oliver mused. "That was a lovely day, wasn't it?"

"Mmmm," Shane replied, typing furiously. "Gorgeous." _I wasn't even in Denver last Thursday until after two AM,_ she thought wryly. _But we didn't specify locations, and it_ _ **was**_ _gorgeous weather in DC, so technically I did not lie, Oliver._

"Virtually cloudless," Oliver mentioned. _Please let me know, Ms. McInerney, when we have made enough small talk!_

"Beautiful," Shane nodded. _OK, done! We are on the list!_ "Yeah, would you mind checking again?"

The guard typed in his computer again and there, on the screen, read:

 _Prisoner Name: Charles Riggs Attorney-of-Record: Jerry Polevich, Esq._

 _Client-Counsel Appointments:_

 _07/25/2014 – Oliver O'Toole, Lead Counsel_

 _07/25/2014 – Shane McInerney, Administrative Assistant to Lead Counsel_

"Ok, there you are," the guard acknowledged. "But I don't see you as the Attorney-of-Record."

"Oh! You are of course referring to Jerry Polevich," Oliver stated authoritatively. "A fine fellow; I've always been pleased with his work. Sadly, however, he was placed on Administrative Leave after inhaling a few too many Mile-High pastrami platters."

Shane was dying of laughter on the inside when she heard him. _Really, Oliver? Don't do that unless you tell me beforehand!_ she mentally snorted.

The guard chuckled. "I understand, I understand," he nodded, as Oliver sighed in relief. "Well, Jerry does like his deli, that's for sure."

"Yes, he does," Oliver agreed, laughing, accepting the IDs and the Visitor badges from the guard. "Thank you."

"Thank you," Shane squeaked through her laughter.

Oliver took one more long sigh of relief as the gate was lifted and he drove through it.

"Oh, my God, Oliver," Shane giggled once they were out of earshot. "Next time tell me _before_ you make a crack like that! I almost lost it in front of that guard!"

"Next time, Ms. McInerney?" he pounced on her words. "Does this mean that you have decided to stay with us after all?" _Please say that you will! You have already been so indispensable to the investigation of this letter, I can't imagine working without you anymore._

They parked, got out of the car, and entered the jail. At the security checkpoint, they showed their badges and were shown to a waiting area until a guard escorted Charlie out, then asked Shane and Oliver to follow them.

"Do I know you?" Charlie asked as the guard escorted them to a private meeting room reserved for Client-Counsel appointments.

"No, Charlie, you don't," Shane acknowledged. "But we're here to help you." _I hope. We will certainly try, Charlie, because you do not deserve to be here. We can't let Kelly wait on that bridge tomorrow, alone! I have been there and the pain of waiting for someone who never comes is excruciating, one that you never get over._ Looking over at Oliver, she added a silent, _Without the help and support of steadfast, loyal, amazing friends._

"Finally," Charlie breathed a sigh of relief. "You're from the State Legal Assistance Office, right?"

"Actually," Oliver corrected wryly, "we're from the US Post Office." Once they were inside the room, and the guard had removed himself to watch from the hall, Oliver shut the door decisively and turned to Charlie. "We have a letter for you that I believe you would be most grateful to receive," he explained, reaching into his inside breast pocket, removing the letter, and handing it to Charlie. He shared a long look with Shane as Charlie read.

"' _June 26_ _th_

"' _Dear Charlie,_

"' _I wanted to be sure you got your button back, and I wanted to explain about last night. Walking away and leaving you standing in the park was the hardest thing I have ever done, except what I am going to say next: I had to leave because I couldn't let you watch me die._

"' _The truth is I'm sick. I'm really sick, Charlie, and for the longest time, all I've been thinking about is just trying to stay alive. And then yesterday, I stepped into that elevator and there you were._

"' _The truth is, Charlie, I don't know who saved whose life that day. You may have saved mine. I won't know for awhile. But I'll always cherish the day you quit Miller, Miller, Miller & Schwartz when we met and tried so hard not to fall in love._

"' _I know I gave you a pretty crazy reason for only spending one day together, Charlie, but the truth is, I only had one day to spend. But spending it with you made all the difference._

"' _I think that was the moment I realized how much I wanted to live, how much I needed to believe in a Someday, with you in it. Maybe that's how it feels to fall in love, Charlie: when you can't wait for tomorrow._

"' _I wanted to tell you everything right then, Charlie, but I didn't want to break the spell. I've always been good at putting off the hard stuff._

"' _And then, even though I wanted to come back and find you waiting there for me on the steps by the blue gate, I couldn't. But I can explain. With all my talk about courage, you were the one that took the big leap yesterday, and now it's my turn. I am going to do what I have to do to get myself well._

"' _If it works, let's meet a year from today, on the twenty-sixth, and we'll go on a second date. But if I am not there waiting for you on the bridge at six o'clock, you'll know it's only because the leap I had to make was just too far._

"' _Whatever happens, Charlie, sew this button on and go out into the world. And if you ever want to spend that day with me again, just remember how it started. Just remember: "Life is Short"._

"' _Love, Kelly'_ "

Charlie folded up the letter, gasping softly. "I knew something was wrong," he admitted. "I knew she would have come forward if she could've. Everybody thought I made her up. But now I have proof." _Why didn't she come herself? Is she still in treatment? Is she still sick?_ He wouldn't allow himself to imagine the only other alternative to her silence. Life couldn't be _that_ cruel to him.

"Only proof that she loved you, I'm afraid," Shane replied sadly. _I should have tried harder to find those photos. Only an hour ago I was bragging to Oliver about how there was no webpage I couldn't hack, but for all my computer prowess, I couldn't hack hers. I failed you, Charlie, and I am so sorry for that, but I will make it right._

"And I'm afraid you can't prove anything else about that day without her and the photos that she took," Oliver expounded.

"All you need," Shane added, "Is one photo with Kelly from that day. Maybe one with the Bloodmobile that only happens once a y—"

"Once a year in the park!" Charlie finished excitedly. "That'd be perfect!"

"And then," Shane continued slowly. "On the 26th—"

"On the 26th, I'll still be in here," Charlie pointed out.

 _Oh yeah, I almost forgot about the murder charge. Focus, Shane!_ "Then we'll go for you," she promised. "We'll keep that date on the bridge, we'll meet Kelly, we'll get the photos and we'll let you know as soon as we get them."

"I just want to know if she's OK," Charlie stated. "I wish I knew what was wrong with her."

 _So do I,_ Shane thought. _What could be so terrible that she couldn't talk about it with anyone? That she felt she had to do things alone, pushing away anyone who tried to get close…oh God, I do that! She's me! All this week, Oliver has tried to get closer to me, to get me to open up about my past, but I have been pushing him – and Norman and Rita – away, keeping them at arm's length. Why?_

"We could make some…discreet inquiries," Oliver offered, surprising himself. _Who would we ask, Oliver?_ "Is there anything else you can tell us about her that wasn't in that letter?"

"Well, I remember when she got on the elevator," Charlie recalled, eyes going soft at the memory. "She had these beautiful eyes."

That statement caused Shane to think of something. "Charlie," she said, pulling out her laptop. "Do you remember what floor she got on in the elevator?"

"I-I think it was the third floor?" Charlie replied.

"And that was the Colorado Bank Building, right?" she clarified.

"Yeah," he answered. "I think. Why?"

"Just give me a second." She typed a few strokes until the page she was looking for came up. "OK, here it is." _Please let this work,_ she thought, not even knowing to Whom she was speaking. _Let them have_ _ **some**_ _record of her treatment! Let me have something to tell him, to give him some hope._

Oliver came up and sat next to her in order to read her screen. Automatically, she adjusted the angle of the computer to make visibility better for him as she worked. "Suite 305, Western States Research Systems. _'A State-of-the-Art Medical Research Company specializing in the experimental treatment of blood-related disorders,'_ " she read. " _'Specifically'_ ," she inhaled sharply, " _'Hodgkin's Disease'_."

"Oh, my God," Charlie moaned.

"Check to see if any patients named Kelly participated in an experimental treatment last year," Oliver requested.

 _Lord,_ he prayed, _I don't know the extent of her illness. Hodgkin's Disease is quite serious, but there is a chance that she may have survived. Please, Father, I pray that she did. That whatever treatment she has undergone has been successful and that she will be there, on the bridge, tomorrow evening at six o'clock, waiting for Charlie to show up. This case has been so important to Shane – Ms. McInerney – that I pray she is not disappointed. I am claiming Your promise, Lord, that is given in Romans 8:28: "_ _ **And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.**_ _" Please, Lord, let this work together for good, as I claim to be one who is called according to Your purpose. In Jesus' name I pray. Amen._

Shane started typing again. "I'm on it," she affirmed. _Great idea, Oliver! Now you see what good my computer skills can do?_

"I tried to look her up online," Charlie explained, gesturing to the computer. "I even looked for a Charlie-and-Kelly website." _Every time I was allowed to use the computer in the rec room here._

"Okay," Shane announced. "I'm in. June 26th, last year, they finalized their control group of 40 patients with Stage-3B Hodgkin's Lymphoma and started Double-Blind Trials the next day, so they used only first names. Jack, age 30. Jason, age 29. Kelly, age 23. That's got to be her, right?"

Charlie nodded eagerly.

"OK, let's see how she's doing," Shane suggested, typing again. Suddenly she stopped, a stricken look on her face. She glanced to her left and nudged her computer ever so slightly, willing Oliver to get the message and to read her screen.

He did and, heart sinking, began his second prayer in as many minutes. _Lord,_ _I know that, for whatever reason, you have allowed this struggle to come into Charlie's already trouble-filled existence. I know that you intend it for good, though another may have meant it for evil. I pray that you comfort his heart, Lord, as he grieves for this girl. Give him the strength and the courage to fight and not to give in to despair. Wrap him in Your ever-supporting arms, Lord, and immerse him in Your love. And, God, please do not allow this outcome to be a stumbling block in my attempts to help Ms. McInerney through her troubles. Give me the wisdom and the words to help her through this, even as You help Charlie. Amen._

Charlie caught on to their looks to one another and tried to see her screen. "What's the matter?" he finally asked. Shane looked up at him mournfully.

Oliver, stroking his temple contemplatively, glanced at Charlie then looked back at the computer screen. " _'The six-month Clinical Trial commencing June 27_ _th_ _failed to produce positive outcomes in 100% of the subjects'_ ," he read. " _'As of this date, no patients survived treatment.'_ "

Shane shut the computer as Oliver finished reading. _How could this have happened?_ she demanded internally. _All that work, and for nothing! This is my dad all over again…Charlie has been waiting for Kelly for a year and she has not shown up; now it's too late and she will never show up. Just like my dad…I waited for him and he never showed, now it's too late._

"I, uh…I don't know what that means," Charlie admitted, hoping it didn't mean what he _thought_ it meant.

"Charlie," Oliver explained softly, "it means she's gone." _I am so sorry, my friend. Sadly, I know a little of what you must be feeling from my mother's passing and my wife's departure. I would not wish it on anybody. But trust in God, and He will see you through it as only He can._

Charlie's lip quivered as grief flooded his system. _Kelly, why didn't you tell me that day? I would have gone with you; would have helped you get better! I loved you, Kelly; I always will._

"I'm so sorry, Charlie," Shane whispered sorrowfully.

Charlie pushed the letter and the button back to Shane sadly as she accepted them. She knew he would want no reminders of Kelly around as he mourned her loss while fighting for his life. Perhaps he would accept them back when – if – he was exonerated and released.

Shane packed her computer, the letter, and the button into her purse, placing a gentle hand on Charlie's shoulder. Oliver clapped him on the back as a sign of support, then signaled to the guard standing in the hall, who unlocked the door to allow Shane and Oliver to exit the room. Before walking away from the door, Shane glanced back at Charlie, who was busily swiping at the ever-increasing tears streaming down his face.

She looked at Oliver, eyes bright with tears of her own. _She's still hurting, Lord, and she needs a shoulder to cry on. I know she won't accept Yours, at least not yet, but perhaps…_

"Come here," he insisted, wrapping his right arm around her shoulders as she buried her face in the crook of his neck and sobbed. "Shh," he crooned. "It's OK."

A couple minutes later, Shane's sobs subsided but she did not move from her position right away. She breathed in, allowing the spicy scent of Oliver's cologne and the sandalwood of his aftershave to wash over her and bring her comfort. Another minute and she took a step away from his embrace.

"Are you OK?" he asked, concerned.

"Better," she whispered thickly. "But I wouldn't say 'OK'. Not yet."

"Let me know if there's anything you need," he reminded her. She nodded.

"You guys really take your jobs seriously, don't you?" the guard asked. "He's just a client. Tomorrow you'll have ten more cases just like him on your desk."

"He's not 'just a client'," Oliver replied fiercely, gesturing to Shane that she precede him to the exit. "Not to us."

The drove back to the DLO in silence, each lost in thought over the events of the day. Once they arrived, they told Norman and Rita what they had found out at the jail.

"I need a YooHoo," Oliver sighed. Rita ran to fetch him his beverage.

"What are we gonna do now?" Norman asked.

"The pictures have to be out there somewhere," Rita suggested, offering Oliver his mug of YooHoo.

"We didn't try hard enough." Shane still blamed herself. "We could have—"

"No," Oliver interjected. "We tried; we did our best. Now we have to do what we know how to do and let Charlie grieve for Kelly." _Don't take this upon yourself, Ms. McInerney! You did more than what was expected of you; nobody could have asked for more. This is not your fault._

"And fight for his life," Shane reminded him.

The door banged open and Andrea came barging in. "Gotten over the 'bad fish', I see," she stated sarcastically.

"Uh, yeah," Shane fudged, grabbing her throat. _**Bad**_ _fish? The fish at breakfast was delicious! What is she talking about?_ "It's a miracle!"

"Forgive me for not keeping you in the loop, Andrea," Oliver apologized.

"Yeah, I really missed being in _your_ loop!" Andrea retorted snarkily. "Too bad you weren't in mine! You didn't go to the meeting."

"And I regret that," he stated practically. "It won't happen again."

"You're darn right it won't happen again!" Andrea shouted gleefully. "'Cause there ain't gonna be another Department Meeting. Ever!"

 _What is she talking about?_ Shane thought, raising her eyebrows. How Oliver could stand to be so polite to her was beyond Shane's comprehension.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, placing his cup on his desk.

"They're shutting the place down," she explained. "Yeah, this lousy, smelly office has – What did they say? – 'Lost its Viability'!

 _What? No!_ _I was just beginning to like it here! Ugh…this day can not possibly get any worse!_

"The Dead Letter Office is…dead?" Norman inquired.

"This time next month you all will be selling stamps and sorting catalogues in Pueblo." Andrea turned to Shane. "You wanted a transfer? Well, you're gonna get one, Missy! How's that for being in the loop?" She chuckled cruelly, snapped her fingers, pushed her shoulders back, and strutted out of the DLO proudly.

"I need a drink," Shane stated.

"I believe we could all use one," Oliver agreed. "Shall we reconvene at the Mailbox Grille?"

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5:15 PM

"Today was a very bad day," Rita muttered sadly as they waited at the bar for their drinks to arrive.

 _I agree,_ Shane acknowledged mentally. _One of the worst in recent memory._

"Oh, I don't know," Norman countered brightly. "I thought we were a pretty good team, holding down the fort!"

"Hey Norman?" Rita began hesitantly. "Do you want to dance?"

"Uh…could we play shuffleboard instead?" Norman suggested, eyes wide.

"OK!" she agreed as they headed to the gaming area.

Shane set her jacket on the barstool next to her. "She has a _terrible_ crush on him," she smiled, watching the two walk away together. "You know that, right?"

"That's very insightful," Oliver acknowledged. "Considering she absolutely terrifies him."

"Yeah, well," she sighed reflectively. "Love is funny."

"Odd, perhaps," he countered. "But funny? Rarely." She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment.

 _Lord, I need to find the words that will get her to open up to me. She still has an air of melancholia, Lord, that frightens me. I know it has something to do with her father – her earthly father, that is – since she as much as admitted it to me last night. I realized it when Rita gave her that card and she steadfastly refused to open it that whatever burdens her has to do with its author. Give me wisdom, Lord, and courage. My heart broke for her this afternoon as she wept into my shoulder, even as hers was breaking for Charlie…and Kelly. Guide me, Lord, as I minister to her._

He turned in time to see the bartender place their drinks on the bar. "Oh, look," he said nervously. "Drinks are here, finally!" He picked up his glass intending to make a toast. "To…um," he began, then stopped. He had planned to say, "To Charlie," but felt that to be…inappropriate…given the circumstances.

"To the Dead Letter Office," Shane supplied. "The last hope of the written word."

 _She amazes me, Lord. All the pain she is going through, and she still finds a way to comfort me over the loss of my department. Hers is the greater loss, but she still cares for mine. Perhaps…perhaps if I revealed a bit of my troubles with Holly, she might unburden herself on me. I have never spoken of Holly since she left, Lord, not even to Norman and Rita. But perhaps, if she knows that I trust her enough with this weight of mine, she will entrust hers to me._

Oliver chuckled as he drank, then told her, "I went on a pilgrimage to the National Postal Museum two years ago. It was glorious."

Shane, realizing that there was some purpose to his odd revelation, stated, "I can't say as I ever went."

"I got lost in it," he admitted dreamily.

"Did you go alone?" she asked.

 _It's time, Lord. Help me to know the right words to say._ "No," he replied, then thought better of it.

"Well, sort of – I took my wife. A lovely person whose interests extended far beyond the written word to, shall we say…the somewhat decadent. We were standing in front of the Pony Express Exhibit. I turned around, and she wasn't there anymore. I looked everywhere for her. I finally gave up. I went back to Holiday Inn Express and, um, waited for her. She never came.

"I was just about to call the police when I noticed that little red light blinking on the phone. She left this message. She said that she was tired of being married to a government official and she figured, since she was in Washington, DC, it was the closest she had ever been to Paris, so she was getting on a plane and moving to France." He sighed dejectedly. _It still hurts, Lord. After over a year and a half, it hurts._

 _What was she thinking?!_ Shane demanded. _Oliver's a great guy! A catch, really: he's intelligent, charming, supportive, nurturing, loyal, generous, good-looking. He's no slave to progress, of course, but that is a non-issue. Objectively, he is what every girl looks for in a guy, so why did his own wife fail to see that?_

"I'm so sorry, Oliver," she said sympathetically. "Did she ever come back?"

"Not yet," he replied flatly. "The last thing she said on her message was, 'I'll send you my forwarding address. Au revoir!' Actually, she pronounced it 'Or rev-or', but I assume her accent's much improved by now."

They smiled at one another in wry amusement before turning somber once more.

"Don't you think you've waited for her long enough?" Shane insisted.

"I believe in keeping promises." He looked at her steadily. "I am, after all, a gentleman." He willed her to understand what he was saying with that statement: that he would respect her wishes and give her the space she needed to sort out whatever she needed to and that, when the time came that she decided to unburden herself, he would be there to lay those burdens squarely upon his own shoulders. He would keep the promises he made to her because his conscience demanded no less from him.

"That you are," Shane admitted with a nod. "Oliver? Would you like to dance?" _Wait, what? No! I do_ _ **not**_ _dance! What were you thinking, Shane?_

Oliver laughed, then looked back at her as she smiled and inclined her head.

He stood, cleared his throat, and walked away. She looked down, turning back to the bar. _Of course he doesn't want to dance with you, Shane! He's_ _ **married**_ _! Even if it is to an ungrateful wretch who just doesn't know what she had._

She was so lost in thought that she did not even notice that someone had loaded "Moonriver" on the jukebox. Not until he spoke, that is.

"May I have the honor of this dance, Ms. McInerney?" he asked.

Gasping, she spun around. There he stood, two steps away, right arm outstretched in silent invitation.

Hesitantly, she took one step forward and placed her hand into his. He led her onto the dance floor and began a simple box-step waltz.

"Can I ask you a question, Oliver?" Shane asked.

"I believe you just did, Ms. McInerney," he replied, grinning. Sobering, he added, "But you may ask another one if you wish."

"Have you ever thought about just going to Paris?" she inquired.

"Sadly, I lack…proper luggage," he hedged.

 _That's it?_ she asked herself. _That's you're excuse? You lack proper luggage?_

"Or you could just give me her name, and I'll look her up in ten seconds, and then you'd finally know," she posited.

"I suppose I would," he acknowledged. _I'm not ready to face the truth, Ms. McInerney. I couldn't take it if Holly were to come back and tell me she wants a divorce. I don't love her, not in the manner in which a man should love his wife, but marriage is sacred and I will keep that sanctity even if it means sacrificing my own happiness._

"You know, I bet that's it," she realized. "You eschew the electronic age, because if you knew…"

"Love that word!" he replied in delight. " _'Eschew.'_ " He twirled her once with ease before lowering her in a dip, his right arm cradling her back even as it supported her weight.

 _What was that? The man is making me weak in the knees!_ She calmed her erratic heartbeat as she corrected herself."You…reject it all…because if you knew how to Google and Skype and Tweet and all that stuff then you would no longer have an excuse for not facing the truth."

He spun them around once before replying. "Please don't psychoanalyze the Section Leader. Besides, you're one to talk."

"What do you mean?" she demanded.

 _Lord, give me the words. Let her open herself to me this time. Let me share her troubles._

"Well," he responded with a smile. "Why haven't you opened your card yet? Hmm? You should. My guess is it's a birthday card from Daddy, with a…twenty…in it."

 _How does he_ _ **do**_ that? She stared at him in amazement. "You are good," she congratulated him with a wry laugh. "Yeah, he always sent me twenty dollars for my birthday."

Oliver stopped dancing. "Sent," he repeated. "Not gave?"

"He left us when I was ten," she admitted in a small voice.

 _Oh, Shane!_ Oliver caressed her right hand, lowering it and holding it gently against his heart. _I am so sorry!_

"He always promised to come to my birthday, but all I ever got was a card and some money," she added.

"That's why making sure Kelly and Charlie kept that date meant so much to you," he concluded sadly.

"Yeah, maybe," she admitted in a tearful voice. "I know what it's like to wait for someone who never comes."

 _What kind of father leaves the little girl who so obviously adores him, promises to come back, and then never does so? No wonder she took this case so hard; no wonder she doesn't trust me…she probably thinks that I am no better than her father. But I will show you, Ms. McInerney; I_ _ **will**_ _keep my promises to you. Any time you need to talk, I am here for you. If you ever need me, for any reason, I am here for you. All you need to do is call. I am relieving you of this burden. No more waiting, no more tears. Life is Short, and we must forgive so we can move on._

He adjusted his grip on her hand and pulled her closer to him. "I'm sorry for you," he whispered in her ear. The pained look on her face broke his heart and he sighed. "Life is short, Ms. McInerney. Perhaps your father's sending you a message, an olive branch that—"

"' _Life is Short'_ ," she quoted from the letter. "Oliver…Oliver, that's it! She _was_ sending him a message! Rita! Norman! Let's go!" she gestured behind her and ran out the door, Rita and Norman right after her with Rita pausing slightly to pick her purse up off the floor and Shane's jacket off the bar stool. Oliver, slightly confused as to what had just happened, grabbed his suit jacket and followed.

Shane took her jacket from Rita's outstretched hands as they reached the Post Office moments later. She shrugged into it and hurried through the corridors to the far back corner where the DLO resided.

"What is it we are missing, Ms. McInerney?" Oliver inquired as he opened the batwing doors to allow the members of his team to enter.

"' _Life is_ Short'," she quoted again, pulling her laptop out of her bag and opening it. "There was a reason she never wanted him to forget that," Shane explained, pulling up a search engine on her laptop. "It was her way of breaking the rules, a way for him to find her."

"She was sending him a message?" Oliver asked.

"' _Life is Short.'_ " She added a filter feature to her search. "Filter for 'Kelly'…'Kelly and Charlie'…Kelly. Kelly S." She stomped her foot in victory. "Yes!" The page loaded, with a photo of Charlie and Kelly directly under the heading. "Oh!" Shane cried. "Look at her. She was so beautiful."

"' _Charlie'_ ," Norman read, " _'if you find this page, you must have really wanted to find me. And in case I don't make it to the bridge, I wanted you to have these pictures to remember the last best day of my life.'_ "

Shane scrolled through the photographs. "There's Charlie by the lake," she pointed out. "There he is sailing the boat."

Oliver came behind Shane to look. "What about Charlie and the Bloodmobile?" he inquired. "They have to be in the same picture in order to establish time and place."

"Ok," Shane mumbled. "There he is swinging across the creek, landing on the other side, there he is running."

"No," Rita disagreed. "That's the jogger that ran into Charlie. No, wait. Or _is_ that Charlie?"

"No, that's the jogger," Norman confirmed. "It just sorta looks like Charlie."

"It looks a _lot_ like Charlie," Rita emphasized. "Same hair, same build."

"So Charlie was knocked down by someone who looks a great deal like him," Oliver began.

"Right before he lost his wallet," Shane finished for him. He nodded at her.

"I believe we have found our murderer, everyone," Oliver announced. "Good work, Ms. McInerney. Really, excellent. Well done."

"Thank you." Shane began typing again.

"What are you looking for?" Rita asked, gazing at the computer.

"I am looking for a suspect," Shane replied. "There has to be someone that would benefit from Roger Piperson's death. Aha!"

"What is it?" Oliver asked.

"Roger Piperson has one living relative: Eugene Mossley, who has a prior record. Let's pull up his mug shot…yep, he looks a lot like Charlie: same hair, same build. Sound familiar?"

At their nods, she looked around. "Um, is there a printer around here?" she asked.

"A printer? No, why?" Oliver inquired.

"So that I can print off these photographs, including the one of Eugene Mossley," she explained. "You know what? Never mind, I have a printer in my hotel room; I'll take care of it tonight. Is anyone else hungry?"

"Yeah! I'm starving!" complained Norman.

"Come on, everyone," Oliver offered. "Let's go eat. My treat."

"You bought breakfast," Rita reminded him. "It's Shane's turn to buy."

"So it is," she smiled. "What shall we have? French food, perhaps?" she raised her eyebrow at Oliver, who smirked back at her.

"No French food, Ms. McInerney," he stipulated. She laughed.

"Chinese?" she offered.

"Oh, I love Chinese food!" Rita exclaimed.

"Me too!" Norman announced.

"Chinese it is," Oliver conceded. "I know just the place."

 _Lord, thank you that her heart seems to be lighter now that she has confided in me. Sharing my own burdens with her was difficult for me, but I trust that she will care for my troubles just as I will care for hers. Knit our hearts to hers, Lord, and may she always know that – despite our little home being dismantled by Andrea today – her real home is with us, wherever the future may take us. Amen._

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 **A/N: Well, there it is; Thursday is finished! Please, read and review! Up next: Friday, the resolution to the Kelly/Charlie case, and the second half of Shane's revelation about her dad!**


	10. The Resolution

**A/N: I still don't own anything but my imagination. But that is enough for me. Here we are on Friday, at the conclusion of the Charlie/Kelly case and the second half of Shane's revelations regarding her dad. Please read and review, thanks!**

Friday, June 26th, 2014

7:30 AM

Shane collected the photographs from her printer, placed them into a plain folder, and wrote Charlie's name on the tab before sliding the whole thing into her purse, along with her laptop. She reached into the pocket and pulled out the envelope containing the birthday card from her dad and regarded it thoughtfully.

 _I'm sorry, Dad,_ she thought, placing the card back in the side pocket of her purse. _I just can't read what you've written in there, that you really_ _ **had**_ _blamed me for the last time we spoke. As long as I keep it unopened, I can keep hoping that you truly did love me and did not hold my words against me._

She was pulled out of her musings by the ringing of her suite phone. Startled, she picked up the handset and placed it to her ear. "Hello?" she answered.

"Ms. McInerney," came Oliver's voice from the other end. "I am downstairs in the lobby whenever you are ready to leave."

They had agreed the night before that they would not be in the office at all on Friday – all four of them – but that they would meet for breakfast somewhere further away from the corner of E Alameda and S Downing than they had recently been dining. Oliver had insisted, therefore, that he was to pick them all up, beginning with Shane who was the closest in proximity to his home.

"I'm on my way out the door now," she replied, replacing the handset on its feet, grabbed her purse and her jacket, and ran out the door.

A couple minutes later, Oliver glanced up to see her descending the staircase. And had to swallow hard at the sight. _Red is definitely her color_ , he thought before checking himself. _Where did_ _ **that**_ _come from, O'Toole? You're married, remember? Ms. McInerney is your colleague – nothing more._

"Are you OK, Oliver?" Shane asked, approaching him.

"I am," he confirmed, gesturing to the door. "Shall we fetch our colleagues?"

"Shane?" the concierge called. "Are you and your…gentleman friend…going to breakfast?"

"We're just co-workers," Shane corrected. "But yes, Beth, we are going to breakfast. Why?"

"Well, have you tried Syrup Restaurant?" At the shake of Shane and Oliver's heads, she explained that it was a breakfast restaurant in Cherry Creek specializing in benedicts and sweet breakfasts.

"That sounds fabulous," Shane acknowledged, glancing at Oliver, who nodded in agreement.

"Thank you, Beth," she smiled, heading out the door a step before Oliver.

Half an hour later, they had picked up Norman and Rita and were entering the Cherry Creek location of Syrup.

"Four, please," Oliver requested of the hostess, before she led them to a tall table in the rear of the restaurant.

Once they had been seated and had opened their menus to peruse the options, Oliver regarded Shane thoughtfully.

 _Lord, I don't know what to make of her. She is amazing; she wouldn't give up until she had resolved this case and given it as happy an ending as was possible under the circumstances. She worked through her own pain, finally handing that burden over to me. At the same time, she accepted the weight of my own burdens, my own insecurities without question, complaint, or distaste. She has an insatiable curiosity that I realize must have pestered all week in regards my wife, but she never asked. Not once. She respected my privacy and allowed me to come to her with the story in my own time and on my own terms. Thank you for bringing her into our lives; they are brighter and better for having known her, no matter how briefly._

Shane, feeling his gaze on her, glanced up. When he raised his eyebrows and tilted his head toward the menu, she laughed, understanding what he was asking.

"Are we going to make this a habit, Oliver?" she asked.

"What would you like?" was his response. "It's your turn to choose."

"I was looking at the Maryland Eggs Benedict," she replied.

"Ah, yes," he agreed. "I saw that as well. Perhaps we could…order the Salmon crostini, as well?"

She nodded. "It's fitting, since it's essentially a bagel and lox, but without the bagel."

Rita watched her friends with a smile. _They have great chemistry,_ she thought. _It's too bad Oliver's already married to Holly and that Shane…well, as of next month Shane will be transferred along with us to Pueblo, I guess, or wherever we're being sent. Still, they would have made such a great couple, and Shane understands or…accepts, I guess is the better word…Oliver in a way that Holly just never did._

The waitress returned to take their orders and within minutes had returned with their coffees. Fifteen minutes later, she had returned with their food, and an extra plate which she handed to Oliver. Oliver placed one of the crab cake benedicts with half the smashed tater tots, half the arugula and pear salad, and one of the salmon crostini onto it and handed it to Shane, before situating his own food the way he liked it.

Once they had finished eating and some of the extra dishes cleared away, Oliver accepted the bill from the waitress as Shane pulled her laptop out of her bag.

"What are you doing, Ms. McInerney?" Oliver asked, placing his credit card inside the bill and laying it on the edge of the table.

"I am looking up Jerry Polevich's schedule today," she explained, typing. "Ok, here it is…oh!" she exclaimed dejectedly. "He's in court all day."

"Well, that's very disappointing," Norman stated.

"But…what is that?" she continued, clicking on something and typing some more. "Yes! He has a tee time at the Pine Cobble Country Club at 10:30!"

Oliver pulled out his grandfather's pocket watch. "It is 9:30 now," he announced. "Shall we go?"

"Maybe we should stop at the Mile-High Deli on the way, for a little extra incentive," Shane suggested, half kidding.

"That is an excellent suggestion, Ms. McInerney," Oliver agreed. "I believe Mr. Polevich will be reluctant to do anything about the file you created without some…gentle persuasion."

"Oliver O'Toole committing bribery," she stated, passing him as he held the door open for her. "The world has gone mad."

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10:35 AM

Rita placed the binoculars to her eyes, scanning the rolling hills for signs of the attorney. Finally, she spotted him, getting upset at his most recent shot.

"There!" Rita exclaimed, pointing. "There he is! He's on the move!"

"Well, get in!" Oliver insisted. "Come on!"

They bumped and jostled and steered their way through the golf course, riding over games and between players until they came out in front of Jerry's golf cart.

"Hey!" Jerry spat out. "Ho! You jerk! What are you doing?" _Who do these people think they are, cutting my cart off like that! They'll get somebody killed! Actually, that might not be a bad idea, if it would lead to more business…_

"Sorry, sir," Norman stated, rushing up. "The 18th hole is currently off-limits due to suspicious ground squirrel activity."

"What the hell is going on?" Jerry insisted. _What? Ground squirrel activity? What is this guy talking about?_

"A moment of your time, Jerry," Oliver requested evenly. _How could I ever have thought that Ms. McInerney would be looking at that dating website, intending to date_ _ **this**_ _guy? She deserves better than that._

"Who are you people?" the lawyer demanded.

"Loyal Americans dedicated to the highest standard of mail delivery," Oliver replied proudly. "We have some information of the utmost importance we want to bring to your attention."

"I gotta sink this putt and be back in court in half an hour," Polevich dismissed Oliver. _His voice sounds familiar. Have he and I spoken before? Could he be a former client, maybe?_

"We have a Double-Double Reuben on Rye from the Mile-High Deli that says you wanna hear what we have to say," Shane bribed him, cradling a grease-stained bag from his favorite Deli. _Blech! This smells sour!_ She held the bag slightly away from herself to relieve her senses of the smell.

Oliver added, "You are the Public Defender for Mr. Charles Riggs, and this is the information that proves he is innocent." He handed him the office folder of proof that Shane had put together in her hotel suite that morning.

"You're the guy that called me," Jerry recalled. _So_ _ **that's**_ _where I heard his voice! He's the one obsessed with that stupid kid that killed the baker last year! Don't know why…it's a slam-dunk for the prosecution and would not have been a case I would have chosen to try, if I had been given a choice._

"Photos taken the same day the crime took place," Oliver insisted, pressing his case. "Note the Bloodmobile, a once-a-year afternoon event. Please pay particular attention to this photo of a man who bears a remarkable resemblance to Mr. Charles Riggs. Please note his hand suspiciously close to Mr. Riggs' back pocket. I submit to you that he is stealing the very wallet that the murderer of Roger Piperson purposely dropped at the scene of the crime—"

"That's ridiculous," Jerry interrupted.

"I know it seems a bit far-fetched," Oliver allowed. "Until I point out to you the man accosting Mr. Riggs, removing his wallet, is Eugene Mossley. The cousin and sole living relative of the deceased millionaire." _How did a man so dense, so…uninterested in helping people…ever choose a career in public service?_

"Look him up," Rita instructed. "He's on the internet."

Shane smiled. _Poor Rita! I've corrupted her with my computer!_ she joked internally.

"Oh," Polevich nodded.

"Follow the money, Mr. Polevich," Oliver concluded. "And I imagine you will find the murder weapon and a man who has just inherited the millions his cousin had promised to an orphanage."

"Okay," Polevich patronized them. "Well, I'm gonna give, uh, all this some real thought." _Maybe Monday, after my trial finishes. Maybe._

"No," Oliver countered steadily. "You are gonna give that to the District Attorney and you're gonna get the charges against Mr. Riggs dropped. Immediately."

"What is that? Some kind of threat?" Jerry demanded angrily, squaring his shoulders.

Oliver was not worried. He had boxed in college, and done pretty well at it, too. It had been a safe, productive outlet to work through his anger with his father. He was sure that, if it came down to it, he would be able to handle the attorney.

"No," he replied calmly. "But this is." He leaned forward to whisper in Polevich's ear. "Have you ever seen what happens to Montana steaks when they've been rerouted for additional postage?"

 _Well done, Oliver!_ Shane cheered mentally, smiling on the outside. _He should have been a lawyer; he just did in five minutes what Polevich couldn't accomplish in a year!_

Polevich took a deep breath, sighed, and took the bag from Shane's outstretched hands. _Finally, I got rid of that stinky, greasy, slimy sandwich!_ Shane thought in triumph.

"Well played, sir," Oliver applauded, stepping back before leading his team back into their golf cart and leaving the scene.

"Oliver, that was _spectacular_!" Shane cried once they were out of earshot. "I never knew you had it in you, but well done!"

"Yes, well," Oliver demurred. "It was a group effort, Ms. McInerney. Norman, sit down please before you fall off the cart and break your neck. Shall we head to the jail to watch this all unfold?"

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11:30 AM

They stopped by a deli that was close to the county jail and ordered a bagel and lox with all the trimmings before heading to the jail, arriving just in time to see news crews congregating outside the gates. The four exited the car and leaned against it, watching the scene unfold.

"That's right, Parker," a news correspondent confirmed. "The remarkable way in which this new evidence came to light certainly contributed to Riggs' speedy release, which we expect to take place…any minute now."

"So this is it?" Rita inquired sadly. "It's really over?" _I'm gonna miss the DLO…it's the only place I really belonged here in Colorado. And Norman and Oliver…and now Shane…what are we going to do? We're a family. We should stay together._

"Before you know it," Oliver confirmed. "We'll be back at the DLO, packing our proverbial bags, and transferring to Pueblo. Or Meeker. Or East Tincup. Our days of rule-breaking glory are over." _Lord, I am trusting You. I am trusting the timing on this one because I just cannot see the benefit to closing the DLO. Look at all the good we did this week! We saved a man's life and put a murderer behind bars! In one week, when it took authorities a year without uncovering_ _ **any**_ _of the clues that my team and I did. This does not sound like the work of an office that has 'Lost its Viability'. Guide us, Lord, and keep us together, I pray._

"Not for me," Shane remarked airily, interrupting Oliver's thoughts.

"No," he agreed. "I imagine you will always be found somewhere stepping across a line. Before it's all over, I would like to know why. Shane McInerney, why are you such a revolutionary?"

"Well," she laughed delightedly. " _Since_ you called me by my real name, I am going to _tell_ you, Mr. O'Toole."

He chuckled. _Mr. O'Toole, huh? Fair enough, Ms. McInerney. I have called you by your last name all week so it is only fair that you call me by my last name, too._

"I always followed the rules," she explained. "Drove the speed limit."

Oliver laughed, eyes raised to heaven. _She followed the rules, Lord? This is not something I can see her doing._

"Always parked at least five feet away from the fire hydrant," Shane continued, oblivious to Oliver's musings. "Never tore the tags off furniture. So…one night, when I went to a hospital…and they told me that visiting hours were over, I said, 'Thank you. I will come back tomorrow.'

"But when tomorrow came…I didn't have anyone to come back to. My dad had died in the night—" her voice broke, "and I never got the chance to, uh, work things out with him."

"You two were at odds?" Oliver conjectured. _Oh, Shane! More heartache from your dad? After he walked out on you and never came back, what could have happened to make things worse between the two of you?_

"He had called a couple months before and said that he was sick and he wanted to spend my birthday with me before he died. I said…that he had been gone so long, that he was dead to me already."

"He was your dad," Rita reassured her. "I'm sure he knew you didn't mean it." _Everybody gets mad sometimes, Shane. It doesn't mean you didn't love him, and it doesn't mean that he didn't love you, too._

"He knew that I did," Shane admitted evenly. _But it is something that I can never make right, and so is something I can never forgive myself for._

"Interesting," Oliver stated. _Oh, dear,_ he thought. _Lord, if ever I needed Your words, I need them now. She has been carrying this burden far too long. People get angry and say things they might not otherwise. That's why she won't open the birthday card from him, isn't it? It's not because she's angry with him for walking out on her; rather, it's because she feels guilty over how she spoke to him. She's praying – even if she doesn't know it is praying – for forgiveness from him inside that card but expecting more rejection that she truly cannot handle right now. She is fragile, Lord, though she hides it well. Imbue me with Your strength, that I might pass it on to her so she and I can shoulder this burden together._

"What?" Shane asked, shaking her head in disbelief.

"You may have surmised by now," Oliver explained, "uh, I am a man of faith."

"It's true," Rita confirmed, scooting closer to Shane. "He sings in the church choir."

"Tenor," Norman added.

"You may find my faith amusing or naïve, but you are something of a believer yourself."

 _I don't find your faith either amusing or naïve, Oliver, as it is a part of you, as real as the three-piece suits you wear, that crazy car you drive, and the words you so love to speak. Though I am not a believer – I don't know where you got the idea that I was – I would never mock or belittle someone who did fervently believe._

"What about me could possibly give you any indication that I believe in God and redemption and all that stuff?" she scoffed.

"Well," he answered. "If you don't, you should throw that card away right now. Go ahead. Yet there it is, still in your purse." She tucked the card further into the pocket and zipped it closed. "You're hoping there's redemption in there. You're hoping that there's something more than twenty dollars in that envelope. You're hoping…that when you finally find the courage to trust that your father never stopped loving you, and you tear open that pain you've been carrying around, there's forgiveness inside. And hope like that, my dear Shane…is what faith is about."

 _Your dear_ _ **Shane**_ _? So you can now call me by that name, even though it reminds you of that stupid Western?_

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"I know it doesn't matter now," Charlie admitted. "But, I just figured it's the 26th and one of us should be here, right?"

"Of course," Oliver confirmed. _We must never regret an act of love, Charlie, and this is an act of love. You loved her, so you come to honor and remember her, and there is no shame in that._

"We got you a bagel and lox," Rita offered, handing him the take-out bag.

"Uh, and, uh, cream cheese and capers," Norman added.

"Thanks," Charlie stated, accepting the bag. "For…everything." _Truly, I would still be in that jail cell, waiting for Kelly to show up, not knowing that she never will. Maybe now I can start over._

"Hey Norman," Rita suggested. "We should go feed the ducks."

"Yeah, I don't know," Norman shook his head.

" _Norman!_ " Rita emphasized, tilting her head away from the other three. _They need to talk together, Norman! Charlie doesn't know us like he does Shane and Oliver; he needs privacy to say whatever he needs to._

"Ducks carry disease, you know," Norman said, following after the brunette.

"U.S. Postal Service, huh?" Charlie asked.

"An obscure division," Oliver confirmed sedately. _I am still trusting that this case will change their minds about the DLO. Perhaps tomorrow at work we will hear some good news._

"Well, thank you," Charlie said again.

"I thought you might like these," Shane offered, holding out the letter and the button.

"And a sewing kit," Oliver added, holding out the packet. "A small souvenir I happened to keep from the Washington, DC, Holiday Inn. Something to remember us by." _And something to let go,_ he added internally. _Even if it is just a small sewing kit, it was kept around as a reminder of Holly, and I do not need it. It's time to start cleaning house and getting rid of the clutter. Starting with the things that don't matter._

Charlie nodded once in acknowledgement of everything they had done for him and turned towards the bridge.

"Good luck, Charlie!" Shane called after him.

Shane and Oliver returned to where Norman and Rita were waiting. "It's hard to believe this is our last assignment together," Norman acknowledged sadly.

"This is our _first_ assignment together, Norman," Shane announced.

"Yeah," he agreed. "I'm gonna miss us."

Shane watched incredulously as a woman on a bike rode past and stopped on the bridge where Charlie was standing. "Oliver, look," she said quietly.

They watch the interchange between the two, Shane smiling broadly when Charlie kissed the girl.

"That _is_ Kelly, right?" Norman asked. _It better be Kelly! But I thought she was…you know._

"Yes, Norman," Oliver confirmed. "I believe it is."

"I knew it!" Rita gasped. "I knew she couldn't actually be gone!"

"I don't understand," Norman stated, confused. "I thought she was supposed to be…you know."

"Don't believe everything you read on the internet," Oliver advised steadily. _Not everything you read on a screen is as it seems. Nobody has the full story, and everyone has a different viewpoint_

"That's right," Shane agreed. " _'There are more things in heaven and earth,'_ Norman, _'than can be dreamt of in your philosophy.'_ "

"Shakespeare," Shane and Oliver stated simultaneously, glancing at one another with smiles.

Turning back to the car, Shane heard her cell phone chime with an incoming text message. Opening it up, she read:

 _Sorry it took so long to get back to you. What I thought would take 24 hours in reality took all week! You don't need to worry about her anymore; as of tomorrow evening she will no longer be a problem for you. How's Denver? Do you like your new job?_

Shane grinned and turned off the phone. She would answer the text tomorrow, after word got out. Right now, she was going to spend some time with friends.

"Where are we going to eat tonight?" Shane asked.

"You know, I kinda just want to spend another evening playing board games," Rita requested. "Can we go back to Shane's hotel room and spend the afternoon in, since we are taking the day off?"

Shane glanced at Oliver, who looked uncomfortable. "Uh, Ms. McInerney may not want visitors in her hotel suite, Rita. We mustn't barge in uninvited."

"Actually," Shane told him, "I think that's a fine idea. I have plenty of board games – so the three of us might have a chance of winning one if we can tear you away from your Scrabble – and some wine. I don't really want to eat from the hotel restaurant, though."

"We – Norman and I – can go pick something up later in the evening, if you're sure you don't mind the company?" Oliver offered.

"I have a proposition," she smiled.

"Yes," he answered automatically. "Whatever it is, yes."

"The three of you are welcome in my home – both the hotel suite and the house I bought – any time you want to spend an evening in."

"What's the catch?" he asked.

"I wonder if – when the day finally comes that I can move into my new house – I wonder if the three of you would be willing to help me? Move in?" she requested in a small voice.

"Shane," he stated. She knew he was serious about what he was about to say if he called her by her first name. "I have already told you: anytime you need my help _for any reason whatsoever,_ all you have to do is ask. I won't speak for Norman and Rita, but if you want my help on your move-in day, then it's yours for as long as you need it."

"Oh, but I'll help!" Rita insisted.

"Me too," Norman finished. "Friends don't let friends move furniture alone, right?"

"Right," Oliver and Rita answered. Oliver handed his handkerchief to Shane when he noticed the tears in the corners of her eyes and led the group back to his car.

 _Lord, I am encouraged by her request. I know she would never have made it had she not truly been contemplating staying with us for more than a few weeks. There is, of course, still the matter of the DLO closing, but I am trusting that to change now that this case has had such a happy resolution._

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 **A/N: Well, there went Friday! Please let me know what you thought of it! Only one more chapter in this story, then I start a new one based on the next episode, Time to Start Livin'. Thank you to everyone who has read and enjoyed this story! I have enjoyed writing it immensely thanks to all of your kind comments!**


	11. The Decision

**A/N: Still don't own anything, I just get to borrow them for a bit. This is now Saturday, their mandatory overtime, where we see the effects of their Charlie/Kelly case and Shane's card from her dad as well as her decision to stay. This is the last chapter in this story, which saddens me, but it has been SO much fun writing it! Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, PM'd, posted, or Tweeted about this story – especially to Dmander4483 for introducing me to the #POstables on Twitter! The first chapter of my next story, which follows the next episode, Time to Start Livin', should be posted in a couple days. Thanks!**

Saturday, June 27, 2014

6:00 AM

Oliver picked up the newspaper off his front porch and opened it. There, on the front page, under an excellent photograph of Charlie and Kelly, another of Roger Piperson, and a third of the Post Office, read the headline, "DEAD LETTER OFFICE SOLVES MURDER OF BAKER, REUNITES COUPLE". Intrigued, he read the article, grinning by the end of it. He opened a drawer in his writing secretary, grabbed a pair of scissors and clipped the article to show the others when he went in to work.

He opened his journal to the entry he had begun on Monday but never finished, rereading what he wrote. " _'Sometimes I wonder, "Who mailed the first letter? Who was that brave soul that put a stamp on an envelope and released it into the world, trusting a stranger to deliver it across the miles, and across time?" In this new world of instant replies and casual deleting, what I love about my work is I can HOLD a letter – a real letter – in my hand and be THAT stranger, whose sole mission_ is to carry out that trust. I work for the United States Post Office. _There it is, a beacon of hope to those who still put their faith in the power of a piece of paper…and a 46-cent stamp. And behind every letter stands thousands of dedicated heroes who still fight the good fight through rain and snow and fiscal cliffs to deliver every note, every card, every letter. And I am one of them – The Few…The Proud…The Postal. I work for you, whoever you are, or whoever you were.'_ "

He twisted his pen and began writing, finishing the entry he hadn't looked at once all week. " _Aunt Tilly's missing will, the missing registration form of the class reunion, the odd ransom note, the first letter from college, the last letter from Iraq…I have seen it all – dead letters by the thousands, each one a tiny paper vessel laden with good news, or ill, profit or loss, love or pain. Tossed about on the rough seas of Government Protocol, a ship searching for its harbor, each one bearing the power to change something, and yet, each one a destiny postponed…until it comes to us. Yes, the thoughtfully-composed, well-considered, addressed, stamped, professionally postmarked, and personally-delivered letter is still the Gold-Standard of human intercourse. God is in His universe, and all is right with the world._ "

Smiling, he closed the journal and placed it where it belonged on the secretary before closing that piece of furniture up, grabbing his satchel, trench coat, and hat, and walking out the door to his car. He and his team had planned to arrive to work an hour early and he needed to run if he wanted to get there by 7.

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He actually got there a few minutes before 7, so he hung up his coat, hat, and satchel, grabbed the newspaper clipping, and headed up to Passports.

"Good morning, Eleanor," he greeted as he entered the office where his longtime friend worked.

"Oliver!" the older woman exclaimed. "Good morning! I hear congratulations are in order…your office will be pretty busy from now on!"

"Yes," he agreed.

"I hear, too, that you have a new trainee that isn't working out so well," she broached.

"From whom do you hear that information?" he demanded sternly before realizing who it must have been.

"Andrea," they muttered simultaneously.

"Ms. McInerney has been invaluable in assisting us during the course of our investigation this week," he corrected her. "I never knew what a need my department had for someone with her skill set until the minor miracle happened on Monday that brought her to us."

"Is this really the Oliver O'Toole I have known and admired the last 15 years?" she smiled. "Take care, honey, that you don't become _too_ attached to her – you _are_ still married, after all. Don't get too close to her; I would hate to see your heart break again when it's still healing from the previous one."

"I know," he sighed. "She knows. About Holly, I mean."

"You told her? Already?" He nodded. "I was trying to get her to open up about something; she had been melancholy all week and I couldn't figure out why. So I told her everything in the hope that she would share her troubles, as well."

"And did she?" Eleanor inquired.

He nodded. "She did, and she is doing better now."

Eleanor laughed. "Only you, Oliver, would willingly tell a relative _stranger_ the most painful thing that has ever happened to you so that you could get them to unburden themselves and heal. You are one of a kind, and why your wife does not recognize it, I will never know."

He smiled. "Well, I better get back to my own office," he admitted.

"Take care, honey. See you Sunday." She hugged him and sat at her desk.

"Sunday," he agreed, stepping back into the hallway. He passed Andrea on the way back to the DLO, she looking confused at his happy demeanor.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, this is an _excellent_ day," Oliver announced, placing his newspaper clipping on the workbench in front of Shane and Rita.

"Good morning, Oliver," Norman greeted his boss.

"Good morning, Norman," Oliver replied, reaching into his refrigerator for a YooHoo.

Rita picked up the clipping. "District Attorney Edwards," she read, "hailed the local Post Office branch at Alameda and Downing for the superlative service and a highly-efficient Dead Letter Division. The branch was originally slated for closure, but will now be expanded to receive _all_ misdirected letters from the Western _and_ Mid-States Regions!" Her excited look fell when she realized that this meant they would be sorting mail for entire Western half of the United States, from the Mississippi River to the Pacific Coast, including Alaska, Hawaii, American Samoa, the Northern Mariana Islands, and Guam.

 _I think we're gonna need a bigger chute,_ she thought.

"McInerney!" Andrea bellowed, bursting through the door. "Looks like you rate now. That transfer you put in for came through early, and you report to the Direct Line Operations at the Terminal Annex in…2 hours." She tore the order off her clipboard and handed it to Shane.

"Thanks," the blonde gasped, unsure what to think.

"Do you still want it?" Andrea inquired.

"I think, uh," Shane stuttered. "I think…" she turned her gaze to Oliver, who returned her look, undecided as to her course of action. "I think I need a cup of coffee! Um…good coffee. Excuse me." She grabbed her purse and walked out the door.

Andrea turned to Oliver. "Looks like your loop just got a _little bit_ smaller!" she chortled gleefully, turning to walk out the door.

Oliver sniffed, grabbed his YooHoo bottle, and moved to sit down at his desk, dejected. _Well, that's it. Lord, I had so hoped that she would decide to stay. We need her here, especially now that we are expanding so much, and I believe she needs us, too. I know that I don't always understand Your plan…perhaps she was only meant to be with us this week to assist with Charlie and Kelly. But why allow us to become so attached to her during her time with us?_

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Shane got into the long line at the Denver Bean Coffee House, still pondering her dilemma. _Do I really want to leave?_ she asked herself. _I mean, I liked working Direct Line Operations, don't get me wrong, but I never felt like my work had…purpose and meaning…there like I do at the Dead Letter Office. I certainly never changed lives there the way we changed Charlie's life this week._

"Aspen Chai Tea with foam!" the barista called. "Next?"

Her thoughts turned to Oliver's words to her the previous day. " _You're hoping…that when you finally find the courage to trust that your father never stopped loving you, and you tear open that pain you've been carrying around, there's forgiveness inside. And hope like that, my dear Shane…is what faith is about._ " She ignored the warm feeling she got when she remembered how it felt to hear Oliver call her "my dear Shane," and put her hand into the side pocket of her purse.

She pulled out the card from her dad, tore open the envelope, and slid it out. "For My Daughter," was written across an image of lavender on the front. _He remembered!_ she cried to herself. Lavender had always been her favorite flower and scent because it reminded her of her grandmother, who had passed away when she was eight.

Smiling wryly, she opened the card. There was no standard inscription inside, so it was a blank card, but the right side of the interior was filled by her dad's tiny handwriting.

" _April 28, 2013_.

" _Dearest Shane,_

" _Do you remember the chess games we used to play? Your mother thought I was crazy for not letting you win, but if I didn't teach you how to lose, you would never be prepared for life. Soon enough, however, you caught on to the game and won every game. Now, I imagine, you can hold your own against the toughest Chess Master._

" _When I left, your sister tried to numb her pain through her addictions and your mother – faced with one daughter struggling outwardly and the other inwardly – chose to support the daughter whose problems she could fix. That's what mothers do, but I fear it has given you a poor picture of family life. It is my prayer that you will find comfort, acceptance, and a sense of belonging in a surrogate family that you were missing in your biological one._

" _I don't blame you for being angry with me. It was your mother I left, not you. Never you, although I can see where you thought it was. I have always loved you, my Crackers, and I always will._

" _Love, Daddy"_

She sniffed and fought tears as she finished reading, wondering how he managed to get such a long letter on one half of a standard birthday card. Unable to fight the tears anymore, she swiped them away as she regarded what he had said about family. _It is my prayer that you will find comfort, acceptance, and a sense of belonging in a surrogate family that you were missing in your biological one._

What was it Oliver had said? Her mind returned to Wednesday and the words he had spoken to her at the park and, later, at the Mailbox Grille. _You don't need to be so self-sufficient all the time. You were placed in my department and in my care for a reason. I don't know what that reason is at the moment; I trust that it will be revealed to me in time. All that matters right now is that you understand that you have a place at the DLO for as long as you want it; you have a home here, Ms. McInerney, and we – Norman, Rita and I – are happy to share your burden if you let us. That's what we do…I just hope you know that I am here for you – without question and without judgment…I am always here for you."_

 _I have found that surrogate family, Dad,_ she thought.

"Next!"

"Can I get three Aspen Skinny Vanilla Lattes and one Steamboat Americano?" she requested.

Twenty minutes later, she approached Andrea on the floor. She pulled the transfer approval out of her purse, crumpled it up, and placed it on the supervisor's clipboard. "I _don't_ still want it," she informed her proudly, heading to the corridor that would lead her to the DLO.

Shane pushed her way through the doors. "Come and get 'em!" she called brightly, excited to begin this new chapter in her life. "I've got three Skinny Vanilla Lattes and one Steamboat Americano. We've got a _lot_ of mail to sort through today, people, so..."

"That was very nice of you," Oliver acknowledged, holding the drink carrier steady with his left hand while pulling his Americano out with his right. Norman and Rita grabbed their lattes, as well, before he lowered his hand holding the drink carrier. _She came back! Thank you, Lord, for always being so faithful._

"Well, I found an extra twenty dollars in my purse," she replied meaningfully, gazing steadily at him.

 _I'm so glad she's staying!_ Rita thought. _Oliver won't admit it, but he needs her. I don't even think he realizes how important she has become to him in the five days she has been here. To all of us, really. Plus, her computer did make a lot of the work easier!_

Shane lifted her cup in salute, and first Oliver, then Rita and Norman, touched their cups to hers before separating and heading to their respective work stations. Oliver and Shane regarded each other for a long moment, then he put down the drink carrier, picked up the newspaper clipping he had brought in, walked over to the refrigerator, and posted it up.

 _It's nice to have a home, a place to belong finally,_ Shane mused as she pulled her laptop out of her purse and turned it on.

They worked steadily through the day, even working through lunch so that, by the time four-thirty arrived, they were completely caught up. They walked out to the floor in time to hear Andrea bellowing.

"Seattle!" she screeched. "They transferred me to Seattle?"

Oliver, Norman, and Rita all wore faces of surprise. Shane, however, stifled a secret smile that only Oliver noticed. He leaned over to her. "Does this have something to do with you?" he whispered conspiratorially.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. O'Toole," she replied, lifting her gaze to his and biting her cheek to keep from grinning.

His eyes twinkled at her. "Someday you are going to have to tell me that story."

"Someday I will," she promised.

He laughed, gesturing that she keep walking. "Good. Shall we go to the Mailbox Grille for a drink before we decide where to go for dinner?" he asked.

"Oh!" Shane exclaimed. "We can't, that reminds me!"

 _She can't go to dinner with us? But I thought she was staying in our department, Lord?_ "Oh?" he inquired. "Do you have alternate plans, Ms. McInerney?" Disappointment flooded into him; he had begun to enjoy spending time with his three colleagues at mealtimes but had especially enjoyed spending the extra time with Shane.

"What? No!" Shane assured him. "No, that's not what I meant at all! It's just, when I was walking back to the DLO from the park, I noticed a sign on the door to the Mailbox Grille that stated they were under new ownership and would become more of a restaurant than a bar. They closed for remodeling Thursday night after we left and will reopen on Monday morning.

"I looked it up online, and they are planning on being open from 6 AM until 11 PM, and will serve all meals, as well as coffee beverages and alcoholic ones."

"You amaze me," he stated. "You learned all that from your computer?"

"No," she responded truthfully. "I learned all that from my phone on the walk back to the office."

"What about dinner?" Rita returned to the subject, aware that Norman would likely be starving.

"Oh, I have an idea for dinner," Oliver replied. "But it involves going to our homes to change."

"What? Why?" Shane demanded.

"Because I am taking us out to celebrate," Oliver explained, opening the car door for her.

"Celebrate what?" she asked, sliding in. "And isn't it my turn to pay? You paid for dinner last night."

"You bought us coffee today," Rita pointed out from the back seat.

"Precisely," Oliver smirked.

An hour and a half later, Oliver had dropped off and picked up Norman, Rita, and Shane and was parking at a restaurant called Vesta. He held the restaurant door open for the others, then approached the hostess stand. "Reservation for O'Toole," he stated.

 _A reservation? What is going on here?_ Shane wondered. From the looks on their faces, she was guessing that Norman and Rita were as clueless as she was.

"Right this way, sir," she replied, turning to lead them to their table.

 _What, no menus?_ Shane thought. _This is bizarre._

They were shown to a table that was laid with a bottle of red wine already decanted, four settings with appetizer plates, and the largest charcuterie platter Shane had ever seen, with everything from salamis and chicken and salmon, to cheeses, to mustards, walnuts, honey, horseradish cream, and pickles.

Oliver held her chair for her and sat beside her once she had seated herself.

"Oliver O'Toole, what are you up to?" she demanded in a whisper.

"We are celebrating two things tonight," he announced, pouring the wine. "The first, and lesser, of the two, is the transfer of Andrea to the wilds of the Pacific Northwest. May she be find happiness and prosperity in the Emerald City, so that she never feels obligated to visit us," he saluted.

Shane choked on her wine, laughing. "Oliver!" she giggled. "Stop _doing_ that!"

After the laughter died down from all four colleagues, Oliver's expression turned serious again. "The second – and far more superior – thing we are celebrating tonight is the permanent addition of Shane to our little family. Welcome home, Ms. McInerney; we are so delighted you chose to stay with us."

"To Shane," Norman and Rita saluted, the four friends touching glasses.

Oliver slipped Shane his handkerchief and they dug in. He had pre-ordered the entire meal so that, as one dish was completed, it was cleared and after a few minutes, the next course was laid. After the charcuterie, there was a baby green salad, curried goat tagine, and a dessert tasting with French press coffee.

"Oliver, this was a wonderful evening," Shane whispered thickly as they lingered over coffee. "But there was no need to go to such trouble."

"Of course there was, Ms. McInerney," he insisted. He thought back to the last line of his journal entry that morning and smiled in satisfaction:

 _God is in His universe, and all is right with the world._


End file.
